cox 


THE  LIBRARY 

OF 

THE  UNIVERSITY 
OF  CALIFORNIA 

LOS  ANGELES 


AN  AMBITIOUS  MAN 


BY 


ELLA  WHEELER  WILCOX 

Author  of  "Three  Women"  "Poems  of  Passion"  "Poems 

of  Pleasure"   "Maurine"   "How    Salvator   Won" 

"  Custer  and  Other  Poems"  "Beautiful  Land  of 

Nod"   "Men,    Women,  and  Emotions" 

"An  Erring  Woman's  Love"  Etc. 


CHICAGO: 

W.  B.  CONKEY  COMPANY 
PUBLISHERS 


Copyright  1896, 
r,v  ELLA  WHEELER  WILCOX 

ALL  RIGHTS  RESERVED 


PS 
33/1 


AN  AMBITIOUS  MAN. 

CHAPTER  I. 

PRESTON  CHENEY  turned  as  he  ran  down  the  steps 
of  a  handsome  house  on  "The  Boulevard,"  wav- 
ing a  second  adieu  to  a  young  woman  framed  be- 
tween the  lace  curtains  of  the  window.  Then  he 
hurried  down  the  street  and  out  of  view.  The 
young  woman  watched  him  with  a  gleam  of  sat- 
isfaction in  her  pale  blue  eyes.  A  fine  looking 
young  fellow,  whose  Roman  nose  and  strong  jaw 
belied  the  softly  curved  mouth  with  its  sensitive 
darts  at  the  corners;  it  was  strange  that  something 
warmer  than  satisfaction  did  not  shine  upon  the 
face  of  the  woman  whom  he  had  just  asked  to  be 
his  wife. 

But  Mabel  Lawrence  was  one  of  those  women 
who  are  never  swayed  by  any  passion  stronger 
than  worldly  ambition,  never  burned  by  any  fires 
other  than  those  of  jealousy  or  anger.  Her  mea- 
ger nature  was  truly  depicted  in  her  meager  face. 
Nature  is  ofttimes  a  great  liar  and  a  cruel  jester, 
giving  to  the  cold  and  vapid  woman  the  face  and 
5 

2133984 


6  AN  AMBITIOUS  MAN 

form  of  a  sensuous  siren,  and  concealing  a  heart 
of  volcanic  fires,  or  the  soul  of  a  Phryne,  under 
the  exterior  of  a  spinster.  But  the  old  dame  had 
been  wholly  frank  in  forming  Miss  Lawrence. 
The  thin,  flat  chest  and  narrow  shoulders,  the  an- 
gular elbows  and  prominent  shoulder  blades,  the 
sallow  skin  and  sharp  features,  the  deeply  set, 
pale  blue  eyes,  and  the  lusterless  ashen  hair,  were 
all  truthful  exponents  of  the  unfurnished  rooms 
in  her  vacant  heart  and  soul  places. 

Miss  Lawrence  turned  from  the  window,  and 
trailed  her  long  silken  train  across  the  rich  carpet, 
seating  herself  before  the  open  fireplace.  It  was 
an  appropriate  time  and  situation  for  a  maiden's 
tender  dreams;  only  a  few  hours  had  passed  since 
the  handsomest  and  most  brilliant  young  man  in 
that  thriving  eastern  town  had  asked  her  to  be 
his  wife,  and  placed  the  kiss  of  betrothal  upon  her 
virgin  lips.  Yet  it  was  with  a  sense  of  triumph 
and  relief,  rather  than  with  tenderness  and  rap- 
ture, that  the  young  woman  meditated  upon  the 
situation.  Triumph  over  other  women  who  had 
shown  a  decided  interest  in  Mr.  Cheney,  since  his 
arrival  in  the  place  more  than  eighteen  months 
ago,  and  relief  that  the  dreaded  role  of  spinster 
was  not  to  be  her  part  in  life's  drama. 

Miss  Lawrence  was  twenty-six — one  year  older 
than  her  fiance";  and  she  had  never  received  a 


AN  AMBITIOUS   MAN  7 

proposal  of  marriage  or  listened  to  a  word  of  love 
in  her  life  before.  Let  me  transpose  that  phrase 
— she  had  never  before  received  a  proposal  of  mar- 
riage, and  had  never  in  her  life  listened  to  a  word 
of  love;  for  Preston  had  not  spoken  of  love.  She 
knew  that  he  did  not  love  her.  She  knew  that  he 
had  sought  her  hand  wholly  from  ambitious  mo- 
tives. She  was  the  daughter  of  the  Hon.  Sylvester 
Lawrence,  lawyer,  judge,  state  senator,  and  pro- 
posed candidate  for  lieutenant-governor  in  the 
coming  campaign.  She  was  the  only  heir  to  his 
large  fortune. 

Preston  Cheney  was  a  penniless  young  man  from 
the  West.  A  self-made  youth,  with  an  unusual 
brain  and  an  overwhelming  ambition,  he  had  ris- 
en from  chore  boy  on  a  western  farm  to  printer's 
apprentice  in  a  small  town,  thence  to  reporter, 
city  editor,  foreign  correspondent,  and  after  two 
or  three  years  of  travel  gained  in  this 
manner  he  had  come  to  Beryngford  and  bought 
out  a  struggling  morning  paper,  which  was  mak- 
ing a  mad  effort  to  keep  alive,  changed  its  polit- 
ical tendencies,  infused  it  with  western  activity 
and  filled  it  with  cosmopolitan  news,  and  now, 
after  eighteen  months,  the  young  man  found  him- 
self coming  abreast  of  his  two  long  established 
rivals  in  the  editorial  field.  This  success  was 
but  an  incentive  to  his  overwhelming  ambition  for 


8  AN   AMBITIOUS   MAN 

place,  power  and  riches.  He  had  seen  just  enough 
of  life  and  of  the  world  to  estimate  these  things 
at  double  their  value;  and  he  was,  beside,  looking 
at  life  through  the  magnifying  glass  of  youth.  The 
Creator  intended  as  to  gaze  on  worldly  possessions 
and  selfish  ambitions  through  the  small  end  of  the 
lorgnette,  but  youth  invariably  inverts  the  glass. 

To  the  young  editor,  the  brief  years  behind  him 
seemed  like  a  long  hard  pull  up  a  steep  and  rocky 
cliff.  From  the  point  to  which  he  had  attained, 
the  summit  of  his  desires  looked  very  far  away, 
much  farther  than  the  level  from  which  he  had 
arisen.  To  rise  to  that  summit  single-handed 
and  alone  would  require  unremitting  effort 
through  the  very  best  years  of  his  manhood.  His 
brain,  his  strength,  his  ability,  his  ambitions, 
what  were  they  all  in  the  strife  after  place  and 
power,  compared  to  the  money  of  some  common- 
place adversary?  Preston  Cheney,  the  native-born 
American  directly  descended  from  a  Kevolution- 
ary  soldier,  would  be  handicapped  in  the  race  with 
eome  Michael  Murphy  whose  father  had  made  a 
fortune  in  the  saloon  business,  or  who  had  him- 
self acquired  a  competency  as  a  police  officer. 

America  was  not  the  same  country  which  gave 
men  like  Benjamin  Franklin,  Abraham  Lincoln 
and  Horace  Greely  a  chance  to  rise  from  the  lower 
ranks  to  the  highest  places  before  they  reached 


AN  AMBITIOUS  MAN  9 

middle  life.  It  was  no  longer  a  land  where  merit 
strove  with  merit,  and  the  prize  fell  to  the  most 
earnest  and  the  most  gifted.  The  tremendous  in- 
flux of  foreign  population  since  the  war  of  the  Re- 
bellion and  the  right  of  franchise  given  unreserv- 
edly to  the  illiterate  and  the  vicious,  rendered  the 
ambitious  American  youth  now  a  toy  in  the  hands 
of  aliens,  and  position  a  thing  to  be  bought  at  the 
price  set  by  un-American  masses. 

Thoughts  like  these  had  more  and  more  with 
each  year  filled  the  mind  of  Preston  Cheney,  until 
like  the  falling  of  stones  and  earth  into  a  river 
bed,  they  changed  the  naturally  direct  current  of 
his  impulses  into  another  channel.  Why  not 
further  his  life  purpose  by  an  ambitious  marriage? 
The  first  time  the  thought  entered  his  mind  he  had 
cast  it  out  as  something  unclean  and  unworthy  of 
his  manhood.  Marriage  was  a  holy  estate,  he 
said  to  himself,  a  sacrament  to  be  entered 
into  with  reverence,  and  sanctified  by  love.  He 
must  love  the  woman  who  was  to  be  the  com- 
panion of  his  life,  the  mother  of  his  children. 

Then  he  looked  about  among  his  early  friends 
who  had  married,  as  nearly  all  the  young  men  of 
the  middle  classes  in  America  do  marry,  for  love, 
or  what  they  believe  to  be  love.  There  was  Tom 
Somers — a  splendid  lad,  full  of  life,  hope  and 
ambition  when  he  married  Carrie  Towne,  the  pret- 


10  AN  AMBITIOUS  MAN 

tiest  girl  in  Vandalia.  Well,  what  was  he  now, 
after  seven  years?  A  broken-spirited  man,  with 
a  sickly,  complaining  wife  and  a  brood  of  ill-clad 
children.  Harry  Walters,  the  most  infatuated 
lover  he  had  ever  seen,  was  divorced  after  five 
years  of  discordant  marriage. 

Charlie  St.  Glair  was  flagrantly  unfaithful  to 
the  girl  he  had  pursued  three  years  with  his  ardent 
wooings  before  she  yielded  to  suit.  Certainly 
none  of  these  love  marriages  were  examples  for 
him  to  follow.  And  in  the  midst  of  these  reveries 
and  reflections,  Preston  Cheney  came  to  Beryng- 
ford,  and  met  Sylvester  Lawrence  and  his  daugh- 
ter Mabel.  He  met  also  Berene  Dumont.  Had 
he  not  met  the  latter  woman  he  would  not  have 
succumbed  so  soon  at  least  to  the  temptation  held 
out  by  the  former,  to  advance  his  ambitious  aims. 

He  would  have  hesitated,  considered,  and  re-con- 
sidered, and  without  doubt  his  better  nature  and 
his  good  taste  would  have  prevailed.  But  when 
fate  threw  Berene  Dumont  in  his  way,  and  circum- 
stances brought  about  his  close  associations  with 
her  for  many  months,  there  seemed  but  one  way 
of  escape  from  the  Scylla  of  his  desires,  and  that 
was  to  the  Charybdis  of  a  marriage  with  Miss 
Lawrence. 

Miss  Lawrence  was  not  aware  of  the  part  Be- 
rene Dumout  had  played  in  her  engagement,  but 


AN  AMBITIOUS   MAN  11 

she  knew  perfectly  the  part  her  father's  influence 
and  wealth  had  played;  but  she  was  quite  content 
with  affairs  as  they  were,  and  it  mattered  little  to 
her  what  had  brought  them  about.  To  be  married, 
rather  than  to  be  loved,  had  been  her  ambition 
since  she  left  school;  being  incapable  of  loving, she 
was  incapable  of  appreciating  the  passion  in  any 
of  its  phases.  It  had  always  seemed  to  her  that  a 
great  deal  of  nonsense  was  written  and  talked 
about  love.  She  thought  demonstrative  people 
very  vulgar,  and  believed  kissing  a  means  of  con- 
veying germs  of  disease. 

But  to  be  a  married  woman,  with  an  establish- 
ment of  her  own,  and  a  husband  to  exhibit  to  her 
friends,  was  necessary  to  the  maintenance  of  her 
pride. 

When  Miss  Lawrence's  mother,  a  nervous  inva- 
lid, was  informed  of  her  daughter's  engagement, 
she  burst  into  tears,  as  over  a  lamb  offered  on 
the  altar  of  sacrifice;  and  Judge  Lawrence  pressed 
a  kiss  on  the  lobe  of  Mabel's  left  ear  which  she 
offered  him,  and  told  her  she  had  won  a  prize  in 
the  market.  But  as  he  sat  alone  over  his  cigar 
that  night,  he  sighed  heavily,  and  said  to  himself, 
"Poor  fellow,  I  wish  Mabel  were  not  so  much  like 
her  mother." 


CHAPTER  II. 

"BARONESS  BROWN"  was  a  distinctive  figure  in 
Beryngford.  She  came  to  the  place  from  foreign 
parts  some  three  years  before  the  arrival  of  Pres- 
ton Cheney,  and  brought  servants,  carriages  and 
horses,  and  established  herself  in  a  very  handsome 
house  which  she  rented  for  a  term  of  years.  Her 
arrival  in  this  quiet  village  town  was  of  course 
the  sensation  of  the  hour,  or  rather  of  the  year. 
She  was  known  as  Baroness  Le  Fevre — an  Ameri- 
can widow  of  a  French  baron.  Large,  voluptuous, 
blonde,  and  handsome  according  to  the  popular 
idea  of  beauty,  distinctly  amiable,  affable  and 
very  charitable,  she  became  at  once  the  fashion. 

Invitations  to  her  house  were  eagerly  sought 
after,  and  her  entertainments  were  described  in 
column  articles  by  the  press. 

This  state  of  things  continued  only  six  months, 
however.  Then  it  began  to  be  whispered  about 
that  the  "Baroness"  was  in  arrears  for  her  rent. 
Several  of  her  servants  had  gone  away  in  a  high 
state  of  temper  at  the  titled  mistress  who  had 
12 


AN  AMBITIOUS  MAN  13 

failed  to  pay  them  a  cent  of  wages  since  they  came 
to  the  country  with  her;  and  one  day  the  neigh- 
bors saw  her  fine  carriage  horses  led  away  by  the 
sheriff. 

A  week  later  society  was  electrified  by  the  an- 
nouncement of  the  marriage  of  Baroness  Le  Fevre 
to  Mr.  Brown,  a  wealthy  widower  who  owned  the 
best  shoe  store  in  Beryngford. 

Mr.  Brown  owned  ten  children  also,  but  the 
youngest  was  a  boy  of  sixteen,  absent  in  college. 
The  other  nine  were  married  and  settled  in  corn> 
fortable  homes. 

Mr.  Brown  died  at  the  expiration  of  a  year. 
This  one  year  had  taught  him  more  of  womankind 
than  he  had  learned  in  all  his  sixty  and  nine 
years  before;  and  feeling  that  it  is  never  too  late 
to  profit  by  learning,  Mr.  Brown  discreetly  made 
his  will,  leaving  all  his  property  save  the  widow's 
"thirds"  equally  divided  among  his  ten  children. 

The  Baroness  made  a  futile  effort  to  break  the 
will,  on  the  grounds  that  he  was  not  of  sound 
mind  when  it  was  drawn  up;  but  the  effort  cost 
her  several  hundred  of  her  few  thousand  dollars 
and  the  increased  enmity  of  the  ten  Brown  chil% 
dren,  and  availed  her  nothing.  An  important 
part  of  the  widow's  third  was  the  Brown  man- 
sion, a  large,  commodious  house  built  many  years 
before,  when  the  village  was  but  a  country  town. 


14  AN  AMBITIOUS  MAN 

Everybody  supposed  the  "Baroness,"  as  she  was 
still  called,  half  in  derision  and  half  from  the 
American  love  of  mouthing  a  title,  would  offer 
this  house  for  sale,  and  depart  for  fresh  fields 
and  pastures  new.  But  the  Baroness  never  did 
what  she  was  expected  to  do. 

Instead  of  offering  her  house  for  sale,  she  offered 
"Rooms  to  let,"  and  turned  the  family  mansion 
into  a  fashionable  lodging-house. 

Its  central  location  and  its  adjacence  to  severa 
restaurants  and  boarding  houses,  rendered  it  a 
convenient  place  for  business  people  to  lodge,  and 
the  handsome  widow  found  no  trouble  in  filling 
her  rooms  with  desirable  and  well-paying  patrons. 
In  a  spirit  of  fun,  people  began  to  speak  of  the 
old  Brown  Mansion  as  "The  Palace,"  and  in  a 
short  time  the  lodging-house  was  known  by  that 
name,  just  as  its  mistress  was  known  as  "Baroness 
Brown." 

"The  Palace"  yielded  the  "Baroness"  something 
like  two  hundred  dollars  a  month,  and  cost  her 
only  the  wages  and  keeping  of  three  servants;  or 
rather  the  wages  of  two  and  the  keeping  of  three; 
for  to  Berene  Dumont,  her  maid  and  personal 
attendant,  she  paid  no  wages. 

The  Baroness  did  not  rise  till  noon,  and  she 
always  breakfasted  in  bed.  Sometimes  she  re- 
mained in  her  room  till  mid-afternoon.  Berene 


AN  AMBITIOUS  MAN  15 

served  her  breakfast  and  lunch,  and  looked  after 
the  servants  to  see  that  the  lodgers'  rooms  were 
all  in  order.  These  were  the  services  for  which 
she  was  given  a  home.  But  in  truth  the  young 
woman  did  much  more  than  this;  she  acted  also 
as  seamstress  and  milliner  for  her  mistress,  and 
attended  to  the  marketing  and  ran  errands  for  her. 
If  ever  a  girl  paid  full  price  for  her  keeping,  it 
was  Berene,  and  yet  the  Baroness  spoke  frequently 
of  "giving  the  poor  thing  a  home." 

It  had  all  come  about  in  this  way.  Pierre 
Dumont  kept  a  second-hand  book  store  in  Beryng- 
ford.  He  was  French,  and  the  national  character- 
istic of  frugality  had  assumed  the  shape  of  avarice 
in  his  nature.  He  was,  too,  a  petty  tyrant  and  a 
cruel  husband  and  father  when  under  the  influence 
of  absinthe,  a  state  in  which  he  was  usually  to  be 
found. 

Berene  was  an  only  child,  and  her  mother, 
whom  she  worshiped,  said,  when  dying,  "Take 
care  of  your  poor  father,  Berene.  Do  everything 
you  can  at  make  him  happy.  Never  desert  him." 

Berene  was  fourteen  at  that  time.  She  had 
never  been  at  school,  but  she  had  been  taught  to 
read  and  write  both  French  and  English,  for  her 
mother  was  an  American  girl  who  had  been  disin- 
herited by  her  grandparents,  with  whom  she  lived, 
for  eloping  with  her  French  teacher— Pierre 


16  AU  AMBITIOUS   MAN 

Dumont.  Rheumatism  and  absinthe  turned  the 
French  professor  into  a  shop-keeper  before  Berene 
was  born.  The  grandparents  had  died  without 
forgiving  their  granddaughter,  and  much  as  the 
unhappy  woman  regretted  her  foolish  marriage, 
she  remained  a  patient  and  devoted  wife  to  the 
end  of  her  life,  and  imposed  the  same  patience 
and  devotion  when  dying  on  her  daughter. 

At  sixteen,  Berene  was  asked  to  sacrifice  herself 
on  the  altar  of  marriage  to  a  man  three  times  her 
age;  one  Jacques  Letellier  who  offered  generously 
to  take  the  young  girl  as  payment  for  a  debt  owed 
by  his  convivial  comrade,  M.  Dumont.  Berene 
wept  and  begged  piteously  to  be  spared  this  hor- 
rible sacrifice  of  her  young  life,  whereupon  Pierre 
Dumont  seized  his  razor  and  threatened  suicide  as 
the  other  alternative  from  the  dishonor  of  debt, 
and  Berene  in  terror  yielded  her  word  and  herself 
the  next  day  to  the  debasing  mockery  of  marriage 
with  a  depraved  old  gambler  and  roue. 

Six  months  later  Jacques  Letellier  died  in  a  fit 
of  apoplexy  and  Berene  was  freed  from  her  chains; 
but  freed  only  to  keep  on  in  a  life  of  martyrdom 
as  servant  and  slave  to  the  caprices  of  her  father, 
until  his  death.  When  he  was  finally  well  buried 
under  six  feet  of  earth,  Berene  found  herself  twen- 
ty years  of  age,  alone  in  the  world  with  just  one 
thousand  dollars  in  money,  the  price  brought  by 
her  father's  effects. 


AN  AMBITIOUS   MAN  17 

Without  education  or  accomplishments,  she.  was 
the  possessor  of  youth,  health,  charm,  and  a  voice 
of  wonderful  beauty  and  power;  a  voice  which  it 
was  her  dream  to  cultivate,  and  use  as  a  means  of 
support.  But  how  could  she  ever  cultivate  it? 
The  thousand  dollars  in  her  possession  was,  she 
knew,  but  a  drop  in  the  ocean  of  expense  a  mu- 
sical education  would  entail.  And  she  must  keep 
that  money  until  she  found  some  way  by  which 
to  support  herself. 

Baroness  Brown  had  attended  the  sale  of  old 
Mr.  Dumont's  effects.  She  had  often  noticed  the 
young  girl  in  the  shop,  and  in  the  street,  and  had 
been  struck  with  the  peculiar  elegance  and  refine- 
ment of  her  appearance.  Her  simple  lawn  or  print 
gowns  were  made  and  worn  in  a  manner  befitting  a 
princess.  Her  nails  were  carefully  kept,  despite  all 
the  household  drudgery  which  devolved  upon  her. 

The  Baroness  was  a  shrewd  woman  and  a  clever 
reasoner.  She  needed  a  thrifty,  prudent  person 
in  her  house  to  look  after  things,  and  to  attend  to 
her  personal  needs.  Since  she  had  opened  "The 
Palace"  as  a  lodging  house,  this  need  had  stared 
her  in  the  face.  Servants  did  very  well  in  their 
places,  but  the  person  she  required  was  of  another 
and  superior  order,  and  only  to  be  obtained  by  ac- 
cident or  by  avertising  and  the  paying  of  a  large 
salary.  Now  the  Baroness  had  been  in  the  habit  of 


18  AN   AMBITIOUS  MAN 

thinking  that  her  beauty  and  amiability  were  quite 
equivalent  to  any  favors  she  received  from  hu- 
manity at  large.  Ever  since  she  was  a  plump  girl 
in  short  dresses,  she  had  learned  that  smiles  and 
compliments  from  her  lips  would  purchase  her 
friends  of  both  sexes,  who  would  do  disagreeable 
duties  for  her.  She  had  never  made  it  a  custom 
to  pay  out  money  for  any  service  she  could  obtain 
otherwise.  So  now  as  she  looked  on  this  young 
woman  who,  though  a  widow,  seemed  still  a  mere 
child,  it  occurred  to  her  that  Fate  had  Avith  its 
usual  kindness  thrown  in  her  path  the  very  person 
she  needed. 

She  offered  Berene  "a  home"  at  the  Palace  in 
return  for  a  few  small  services.  The  lonely  girl, 
whose  strangely  solitary  life  with  her  old  father 
had  excluded  her  from  all  social  relations  outside, 
grasped  at  this  offer  from  the  handsome  lady  whom 
she  had  long  admired  from  a  distance,  and  went  to 
make  her  home  at  The  Palace. 


CHAPTER  III. 

BEEENE  had  been  several  months  in  her  new  home 
when  Preston  Cheney  came  to  lodge  at  "The  Pal- 
ace." 

He  met  her  on  the  stairway  the  first  morning 
after  his  arrival,  as  he  was  descending  to  the  street 
door. 

Bringing  up  a  tray  covered  with  a  snowy  nap- 
kin, she  stepped  to  one  side  and  paused,  to  make 
room  for  him  to  pass. 

Preston  was  not  one  of  those  young  men  who 
find  pastime  in  flirtations  with  nursery  maids  or 
kitchen  girls.  The  very  thought  of  it  offended 
his  good  taste.  Once  in  listening  to  the  boastful 
tales  of  a  modern  Don  Juan, who  was  relating  his 
gallant  adventures  with  a  handsome  waiter  girl  at 
a  hotel,  Preston  had  remarked,  "I  would  as  soon 
think  of  using  my  dinner  napkin  for  a  necktie, 
as  finding  romance  with  a  servant  girl." 

Yet  he  appreciated  a  snowy,  well-laundried  nap- 
kin in  its  place,  and  he  was  most  considerate  and 
thoughtful  in  his  treatment  of  servants. 

He  supposed  Berene  to  be  an  upper  servant  of 
19 


20  AN  AMBITIOUS  MAN 

the  house,  and  yet  as  he  glanced  at  her,  a  strange 
and  unaccountable  feeling  of  interest  seized  upon 
him.  The  creamy  pallor  of  her  skin,  colorless 
save  for  the  full  red  lips,  the  dark  eyes  full  of  un- 
utterable longing,  the  aristocratic  poise  of  the 
head,  the  softly  rounded  figure,  elegant  in  its 
simple  gown  and  apron,  all  impressed  him  as  he 
had  never  before  been  impressed  by  any  woman. 

It  was  several  days  before  he  chanced  to  see  her 
again,  and  then  only  for  a  moment  as  she  passed 
through  the  hall;  but  he  heard  a  trill  of  song  from 
her  lips,  which  added  to  his  interest  and  curiosity. 
"That  girl  is  no  common  servant,"  he  said  to  him- 
self, and  he  resolved  to  learn  more  about  her. 

It  had  been  the  custom  of  the  "Baroness"  to 
keep  herself  quite  hidden  from  her  lodgers.  They 
seldom  saw  her,  after  the  first  business  interview. 
Therefore  it  was  a  matter  of  surprise  to  the  young 
editor,  when  he  came  home  from  his  office  one 
night  just  after  twelve  o'clock,  and  found  the  mis- 
tress of  the  mansion  standing  in  the  hall  by  the 
register,  in  charming  evening  attire. 

She  smiled  upon  him  radiantly.  "I  have  just 
come  in  from  a  benefit  concert,"  she  said,  "and  I 
am  as  hungry  as  a  bear.  Now  I  cannot  endure 
eating  alone  at  night.  I  knew  it  was  near  your 
hour  to  return,  so  I  waited  for  you.  Will  you  go 
down  to  the  dining-room  with  me  and  have  a 


AN  AMBITIOUS  MAN  21 

Welsh  rabbit?  I  am  going  to  make  one  in  my 
chafing  dish." 

The  young  man  hid  his  surprise  under  a  gallant 
smile, and  offering  the  Baroness  his  arm, descended 
to  the  basement  dining-room  with  her.  He  had 
heard  much  about  the  complicated  life  of  this 
woman,  and  he  felt  a  certain  amount  of  natural 
curiosity  in  regard  to  her.  He  had  met  her  but 
once,  and  that  was  the  day  when  he  had  called  to 
engage  his  room,  a  little  more  than  two  weeks 
past. 

He  had  thought  her  an  excellent  type  of  the 
successful  American  adventuress  on  that  occasion, 
and  her  quiet  and  dull  life  in  this  ordinary  town 
puzzled  him.  He  could  not  imagine  a  woman  of 
that  order  existing  a  whole  year  without  an  adven- 
ture; as  a  rule  he  knew  that  those  blonde  women 
with  large  hips  and  busts,  and  small  waists  and 
feet,  are  as  unable  to  live  without  excitement  as  a 
fish  without  water. 

Yet  since  the  death  of  Mr.  Brown,  more  than  a 
year  past,  the  Baroness  had  lived  the  life  of  a  re- 
cluse. It  puzzled  him,as  a  student  of  human  nature. 

But  in  fact,  the  Baroness  was  a  skilled  general 
in  planning  her  campaigns.  She  seldom  plunged 
into  action  unprepared. 

She  knew  from  experience  that  she  could  not 
live  in  a  large  city  and  not  use  an  enormous 
amount  of  money. 


22  AN  AMBITIOUS  MAN 

She  was  tired  of  taking  great  risks,  and  she 
knew  that  without  the  aid  of  money  and  a  fine 
wardrobe,  she  was  not  able  to  attract  men  as  she 
had  done  ten  years  before. 

As  long  as  she  remained  in  Beryngford  she  would 
be  adding  to  her  income  every  month,  and  saving 
the  few  thousands  she  possessed.  She  would  be 
saving  her  beauty,  too,  by  keeping  early  hours 
and  living  a  temperate  life;  and  if  she  carefully 
avoided  any  new  scandal,  her  past  adventures 
would  be  dim  in  the  minds  of  people,  when,  after 
a  year  or  two  more  of  retirement  and  retrench- 
ment, she  sallied  forth  to  new  fields,  under  a  new 
name,  if  need  be,  and  with  a  comfortably  filled 
purse. 

It  was  in  this  manner  that  the  Baroness  had 
reasoned;  but  from  the  hour  she  first  saw  Preston 
Cheney,  her  resolutions  wavered.  He  impressed 
her  most  agreeably;  and  after  learning  about  him 
from  the  daily  papers,  and  hearing  him  spoken  of 
as  a  valuable  acquisition  to  Beryngford's  intellec- 
tual society,  the  Baroness  decided  to  come  out  of 
her  retirement  and  enter  the  lists  in  advance  of 
other  women  who  would  seek  to  attract  this  new- 
comer. 

To  the  fading  beauty  in  her  late  thirties,  a  man 
in  the  early  twenties  possesses  a  peculiar  fascina- 
tion; and  to  the  Baroness,  clothed  in  weeds  for  a 


AN  AMBITIOUS   MAN  23 

husband  who  died  on  the  eve  of  his  seventieth 
birthday,  the  possibility  of  winning  a  young 
man  like  Preston  Cheney  overbalanced  all  other 
considerations  in  her  mind.  She  had  never  been 
a  vulgar  coquette  to  whom  all  men  were  prey. 
She  had  always  been  more  or  less  discriminating. 
A  man  must  be  either  very  attractive  or  very  rich, 
to  win  her  regard.  Mr.  Brown  had  been  very  rich, 
and  Preston  Cheney  was  very  attractive. 

"He  is  more  than  attractive,  he  is  positively 
fascinating,"  she  said  to  herself  in  the  solitude  of 
her  room  after  the  tete-a-tete  over  the  Welsh 
rarebit  that  evening.  "I  don't  know  when  I  have 
felt  such  a  pleasure  in  a  man's  presence.  Not 
since — "but  the  Baroness  did  not  allow  herself  to 
go  back  so  far.  "If  there  is  any  fruit  I  detest, 
it  is  dates,"  she  often  said  laughingly.  "Some 
people  delight  in  a  good  memory — I  delight  in  a 
good  forgettory  of  the  past,  with  its  tell-tale  mile- 
stones of  birthdays  and  anniversaries  of  mar- 
riages, deaths  and  divorces." 

"Mr.  Cheney  said  I  looked  very  young  to  have 
been  twice  married.  Twice!"  and  she  laughed 
aloud  before  her  mirror,  revealing  the  pink  arch 
of  her  mouth,  and  two  perfect  sets  of  yellow-white 
teeth,  with  only  one  blemishing  spot  of  gold  visi- 
ble. "I  wonder  if  he  meant  it,  though?"  she 
mused.  "And  the  fact  that  I  do  wonder  is  the 


24  AN  AMBITIOUS  MAN 

sure  proof  that  I  am  really  interested  in  this  man. 
As  a  rule,  I  never  believe  a  word  men  say,  though 
I  delight  in  their  flattery  all  the  same.  It  makes 
me  feel  comfortable  even  when  I  know  they  are 
lying.  But  I  should  really  feel  hurt  if  I  thought 
Mr.  Cheney  had  not  meant  what  he  said.  I  don't 
believe  he  knows  much  about  women,  or  about 
himself  lower  than  his  brain.  He  has  never 
studied  his  heart.  He  is  all  ambition.  If  an  am- 
bitious and  unsophisticated  youth  of  twenty-five 
or  twenty-eight  does  get  infatuated  with  a  woman 
of  my  age — he  is  a  perfect  toy  in  her  hands.  Ah, 
well,  we  shall  see  what  we  shall  see."  And  the 
Baroness  finished  her  massage  in  cold  cream,  and 
put  her  blonde  head  on  the  pillow  and  went 
sound  asleep. 

After  that  first  tete-a-tete  supper  the  fair  widow 
managed  to  see  Preston  at  least  once  or  twice  a 
week.  She  sent  for  him  to  ask  his  advice  on  busi- 
ness matters,  she  asked  him  to  aid  her  in  chang- 
ing the  position  of  the  furniture  in  a  room  when 
the  servants  were  all  busy,  and  she  invited  him 
to  her  private  parlor  for  lunch  every  Sunday  after- 
noon. It  was  during  one  of  these  chats  over  cake 
and  wine  that  the  young  man  spoke  of  Berene. 
The  Baroness  had  dropped  some  remarks  about 
her  servants,  and  Preston  said  in  a  casual  tone  of 
voice,  which  hid  the  real  interest  he  felt  in  the 


AN   AMBITIOUS  MAN  25 

subject.  "By  the  way,  one  of  your  servants  has 
quite  an  unusual  voice.  I  have  heard  her  singing 
about  the  halls  a  few  times,  and  it  seems  to  me 
she  has  real  talent." 

"Oh,  that  is  Miss  Dumont— Berene  Dumont — 
she  is  not  an  absolute  servant,"  the  Baroness  re- 
plied; "she  is  a  most  unfortunate  young  woman 
to  whom  my  heart  went  out  in  pity,  and  I  have 
given  her  a  home.  She  is  really  a  widow,  though 
she  refuses  to  use  her  dead  husband's  name." 

"A  widow?"  repeated  Preston  with  surprise 
and  a  queer  sensation  of  annoyance  at  his  heart; 
"why,  from  the  glimpse  I  had  of  her  I  thought 
her  a  young  girl." 

"So  she  is,  not  over  twenty-one  at  most,  and 
woefully  ignorant  for  that  age,"  the  Baroness 
said,  and  then  she  proceeded  to  outline  Berene's 
history,  laying  a  good  deal  of  stress  upon  her  own 
charitable  act  in  giving  the  girl  a  home. 

"She  is  so  ignorant  of  life  despite  the  fact  that 
she  has  been  married,  and  she  is  so  uneducated 
and  helpless,  I  could  not  bear  to  see  her  cast  into 
the  path  of  designing  people,"  the  Baroness  said. 
"She  has  a  strong  craving  for  an  education,  and 
I  give  her  good  books  to  read,  and  good  advice  to 
ponder  over,  and  I  hope  in  time  to  come  she  will 
marry  some  honest  fellow  and  settle  down  to  a 
quiet,  happy  home  life.  The  man  who  brings  us 


26  AN  AMBITIOUS  MAN 

butter  and  eggs  from  the  country  is  quite  fasci- 
nated with  her,  but  she  does  not  deign  him  a 
glance."  And  then  the  Baroness  talked  of  other 
tilings. 

But  the  history  he  had  heard  remained  in  Pres- 
ton Cheney's  mind  and  he  could  not  drive  the 
thought  of  this  girl  away.  No  wonder  her  eyes 
were  sad!  better  blood  ran  in  her  veins  than 
coursed  under  the  pink  flesh  of  the  Baroness,  he 
would  wager;  she  was  the  unfortunate  victim  of 
a  combination  of  circumstances,  which  had  de- 
frauded her  of  the  advantages  of  youth. 

He  spoke  with  her  in  the  hall  one  morning  not 
long  after  that;  and  then  it  grew  to  be  a  daily 
occurrence  that  he  talked  with  her  a  few  moments, 
and  before  many  weeks  had  passed  the  young  man 
approached  the  Baroness  with  a  request. 

"I  have  become  interested  in  your  protdgee  Miss 
Dumont,"  he  said.  "You  have  done  so  much  for 
her  that  you  have  stirred  my  better  nature  and 
made  me  anxious  to  emulate  your  example.  In 
talking  with  her  in  the  hall  one  day. I  learned  her 
great  desire  for  a  better  education,  and  her  anx- 
iety to  earn  money.  Now  it  has  occurred  to  me 
that  I  might  aid  her  in  both  ways.  We  need  two 
or  three  more  girls  in  our  office.  We  need  one  more 
in  the  type-setting  department.  As  the  Cla- 
rion is  a  morning  paper,  and  you  never  need  Miss 


AN  AMBITIOUS  MAN 


27 


Dumont's  services  after  five  o'clock,  she  could 
work  a  few  hours  in  the  office,  earn  a  small  sal- 
ary, and  g£?in  something  in  the  way  of  an  educa- 
tion also,  if  she  were  ambitious  enough  to  do  so. 
Nearly  all  my  early  education  was  gained  as 
a  printer.  She  tells  me  she  is  faulty  in  the  mat- 
ter of  spelling,  and  this  would  be  excellent  train- 
ing for  her.  You  have,  dear  madam,  inspired  the 
girl  with  a  desire  for  more  knowledge,  and  I  hope 
you  will  let  me  carry  on  the  good  work  you  have 
begun." 

Preston  had  approached  the  matter  in  a  way 
that  could  not  fail  to  bring  success — by  flattering 
the  vanity  and  pride  of  the  Baroness.  So  elated 
was  she  with  the  agreeable  references  to  herself, 
that  she  never  suspected  the  young  man's  deep 
personal  interest  in  the  girl.  She  believed  in  the 
beginning  that  he  was  showing  Berene  this  kind 
attention,  solely  to  please  the  mistress. 

Berene  entered  the  office  as  typesetter,  and 
made  such  astonishing  progress  that  she  was  pro- 
moted to  the  position  of  proofreader  ere  six 
months  had  passed.  And  hour  by  hour,  day  by 
day,  week  by  week,  the  strange  influence  which 
she  had  exerted  on  her  employer  from  the  first 
moment  of  their  meeting,  grew  and  strengthened, 
until  he  realized  with  a  sudden  terror  that  his 
whole  being  was  becoming  absorbed  by  an  intense 
passion  for  the  girl. 


28  AN  AMBITIOUS  MAN 

Meantime  tha  Baroness  was  growing  embarrass- 
ing in  her  attentions.  The  young  man  was  not 
conceited,  nor  prone  to  regard  himself  as  an  ob- 
ject of  worship  to  the  fair  sex.  He  had  during 
the  first  few  months  believed  the  Baroness  to  be 
amusing  herself  with  his  society.  He  had  not 
flattered  himself  that  a  woman  of  her  age,  who 
had  seen  so  much  of  the  world,  and  whose  ambi- 
tions were  so  unmistakable,  could  regard  him 
otherwise  than  as  a  diversion. 

But  of  late  the  truth  had  forced  itself  upon  him 
that  the  woman  wished  to  entangle  him  in  a  seri- 
ous affair.  He  could  not  afford  to  jeopardize  his 
reputation  at  the  very  outset  of  his  career  by  any 
such  entanglement,  or  by  the  appearance  of  one. 
He  cast  about  for  some  excuse  to  leave  the  "Pal- 
ace," yet  this  would  separate  him  in  a  measure 
from  his  association  with  Berene,  beside  incurring 
the  enmity  of  the  Baroness,  and  possibly  causing 
Bereue  to  suffer  from  her  anger  as  well. 

He  seemed  to  be  caught  like  a  fly  in  a  net.  And 
again  the  thought  of  his  future  and  his  ambi- 
tions confronted  him,  and  he  felt  abashed  in  his 
own  eyes,  as  he  realized  how  far  away  these  ambi- 
tions had  seemed  of  late,  since  he  had  allowed  his 
emotions  to  overrule  his  brain. 

What  was  this  ignorant  daughter  of  a  Frencfi 
professor,  that  she  should  stand  between  him  and 


AN  AMBITIOUS  MAN  29 

glory,  riches  and  power?  Desperate  diseases  needed 
desperate  remedies.  He  had  been  an  occasional 
caller  at  the  La wrenc  e  homestead  ever  since  he 
came  to  Beryngford.  Without  being  conceited  on 
the  subject,  he  realized  that  Mabel  Lawrence  would 
not  reject  him  as  a  suitor. 

The  masculine  party  is  very  dull, or  the  feminine 
very  deceptive,  when  a  man  makes  a  mistake  in 
his  impressions  on  this  subject. 

That  afternoon  the  young  editor  left  his  office 
at  five  o'clock  and  asked  Miss  Lawrence  to  be  his 
wife. 


CHAPTER  IV. 

PRESTON  CHENEY  walked  briskly  down  the  street 
after  he  left  his  fiancee,  his  steps  directed  toward 
"The  Palace."  It  was  seven  o'clock,  and  he  knew 
the  Baroness  would  be  at  home. 

He  had  determined  upon  heroic  treatment  for 
his  own  mental  disease  (as  he  regarded  his  pecu- 
liar sentiments  toward  Berene  Dumont),  and  he 
had  decided  upon  a  similar  course  of  treatment 
for  the  Baroness. 

He  would  confide  his  engagement  to  her  at 
once,  and  thus  put  an  end  to  his  embarrassing 
position  in  the  Palace,  as  well  as  to  establish  his 
betrothal  as  a  fact — and  to  force  himself  to  so 
regard  it.  It  was  strange  reasoning  for  a  young 
man  in  the  very  first  hour  of  his  new  role  of  bride- 
groom elect,  but  this  particular  groom  elect  had 
deliberately  placed  himself  in  a  peculiar  position, 
and  his  reasoning  was  not,  of  course,  that  of  an 
ardent  and  happy  lover. 

Already  he  was  galled  by  his  new  fetters;  al- 
ready he  was  feeling  a  sense  of  repulsion  toward 


AN  AMBITIOUS  MAN  81 

the  woman  he  had  asked  to  be  his  wife:  and  be- 
cause of  these  feelings  he  was  more  eager  to  nail 
himself  hand  and  foot  to  the  cross  he  had  builded. 
He  was  obliged  to  wait  some  time  before  the 
Baroness  came  into  the  reception  room ;  and  when 
she  came  he  observed  that  she  had  made  an  elab- 
orate toilet  in  his  honor.  Her  sumptuous  shoul- 
ders billowed  over  the  low-cut  blue  corsage  like 
apple-dumplings  over  a  china  dish.  Her  waist  was 
drawn  in  to  an  hourglass  taper,  while  her  ample 
hips  spread  out  beneath  like  the  heavy  mason 
work  which  supports  a  slender  column.  Tiny  feet 
encased  in  pretty  slippers  peeping  from  beneath 
her  silken  skirts  looked  oddly  out  of  proportion 
with  the  rest  of  her  generous  personality,  and  re- 
minded Preston  of  the  grotesque  cuts  in  the  hu- 
morous weeklies,  where  well-known  politicians 
were  represented  with  large  heads  and  small  ex- 
tremities. Artistic  by  nature,  and  with  an  eye 
to  form,  he  had  never  admired  the  Baroness'  type 
of  beauty,  which  was  the  theme  of  admiration  for 
nearly  every  other  man  in  Beryngford.  Her  face 
with  its  infantine  coloring,  its  large,  innocent 
azure  eyes,  and  its  short  retrousse  features  he  con- 
ceded to  be  captivatingly  pretty,  however,  and  it 
seemed  unusually  so  this  evening.  Perhaps  be- 
cause he  had  so  recently  looked  upon  the  sharp 
sallow  face  of  his  fiancee. 


82  AN  AMBITIOUS   MAN 

Preston  frequently  came  to  his  room  about  this 
hour,  after  having  dined  and  before  going  to  the 
office  for  his  final  duties;  but  he  seldom  saw  the 
Baroness  on  these  occasions,  unless  through  her 
own  design. 

"You  were  surprised  to  receive  my  message,  no 
doubt,  saying  I  wished  to  see  you,"  he  began. 
"But  I  have  something  I  feel  I  ought  to  tell  you, 
as  it  may  make  some  changes  in  my  habits,  and 
will  of  course  eventually  take  me  away  from  these 
pleasant  associations."  He  paused  for  a  second, 
and  the  Baroness,  who  had  seated  herself  on  the 
divan  at  his  side,  leaned  forward  and  looked  in- 
quiringly in  his  face. 

"You  are  going  away?"  she  asked,  with  a  tremor 
in  her  voice.  "Is  it  not  very  sudden?" 

"No,  I  am  not  going  away,"  he  replied,  "not 
from  Beryngford — but  I  shall  doubtless  leave  your 
house  ere  many  months.  I  am  engaged  to  be 
married  to  Miss  Mabel  Lawrence.  You  are  the 
first  person  to  whom  I  have  imparted  the  news, 
but  you  have  been  so  kind,  and  I  feel  that  you 
ought  to  know  it  in  time  to  secure  a  desirable  ten- 
ant for  my  room." 

Again  there  was  a  pause.  The  rosy  face  of  the 
Baroness  had  grown  quite  pale,  and  an  unpleasant 
expression  had  settled  about  the  corners  of  her 
small  mouth.  She  waved  a  feather  fan  to  and 


AN  AMBITIOUS  MAN  33 

fro  languidly.     Then  she  gave  a  slight  laugh  and 
said: 

"Well,  I  must  confess  that  I  am  surprised. 
Miss  Lawrence  is  the  last  woman  in  the  world 
whom  I  would  have  imagined  you  to  select  as  a 
wife.  Yet  I  congratulate  you  on  your  good  sense. 
You  are  very  ambitious,  and  you  can  rise  to  great 
distinction  if  you  have  the  right  influence  to  aid 
you.  Judge  Lawrence,  with  his  wealth  and  position, 
is  of  all  men  the  one  who  can  advance  your  inter- 
ests, and  what  more  natural  than  that  he  should 
advance  the  interests  of  his  son-in-law?  You  are 
a  very  wise  youth  and  I  again  congratulate  you. 
No  romantic  folly  will  ever  ruin  your  life." 

There  was  irony  and  ridicule  in  her  voice  and 
face,  and  the  young  man  felt  his  cheek  tingle 
with  anger  and  humiliation.  The  Baroness  had 
read  him  like  an  open  book — as  every  one  else 
doubtless  would  do.  It  was  bitterly  galling  to 
his  pride,  but  there  was  nothing  to  do,  save  to 
keep  a  bold  front,  and  carry  out  his  role  with  as 
much  dignity  as  possible. 

He  rose,  spoke  a  few  formal  words  of  thanks  to 
the  Baroness  for  her  kindness  to  him,  and  bowed 
himself  from  her  presence,  carrying  with  him  down 
the  street  the  memory  of  her  mocking  eyes. 

As  he  entered  his  private  office,  he  was  amazed 
to  see  Berene  Dumont  sitting  in  his  chair  fast 


84  AN  AMBITIOUS  MAN 

asleep,her  head  framed  by  her  folded  arms,  which 
rested  on  his  desk.  Against  the  dark  maroon  of 
her  sleeve,  her  classic  face  was  outlined  like  a 
marble  statuette.  Her  long  lashes  swept  her  cheek, 
and  in  the  attitude  in  which  she  sat, her  graceful, 
perfectly  proportioned  figure  displayed  each  beau- 
tiful curve  to  the  best  advantage. 

To  a  noble  nature,  the  sight  of  even  an  enemy 
asleep,  awakes  softening  emotions,  while  the  sight 
of  a  loved  being  in  the  unconsciousness  of  slum- 
ber stirs  the  fountain  of  affection  to  its  very 
depths. 

As  the  young  editor  looked  upon  the  girl  before 
him,  a  passion  of  yearning  love  took  possession  of 
him.  A  wild  desire  to  seize  her  in  his  arms  and 
cover  her  pale  face  with  kisses,  made  his  heart 
throb  to  suffocation  and  brought  cold  beads  to  his 
brow;  and  just  as  these  feelings  gained  an  almost 
uncontrollable  dominion  over  his  reason,  will  and 
judgment,  the  girl  awoke  and  started  to  her  feet 
in  confusion. 

"Oh,  Mr.  Cheney,  pray  forgive  me!"  she  cried, 
looking  more  beautiful  than  ever  with  the  flush 
which  overspread  her  face.  "I  came  in  to  ask 
about  a  word  in  your  editorial  which  I  could  not 
decipher.  I  waited  for  you,  as  I  felt  sure  you 
would  be  in  shortly — and  I  was  so  tired  I  sat  down 
for  just  a  second  to  rest — and  that  is  all  I  knew 


AH  AMBITIOUS   MAN  86 

about  it.     You  must  forgive  me,   sir!— I  did  not 
mean  to  intrude." 

Her  confusion,  her  appealing  eyes,  her  magnet- 
ic voice  were  all  fuel  to  the  fire  raging  in  the 
young  man's  heart.  Now  that  she  was  forever 
lost  to  him  through  his  own  deliberate  action, 
she  seemed  tenfold  more  dear  and  to  be  desired. 
Brain,  soul,  and  body  all  seemed  to  crave  her;  he 
took  a  step  forward,  and  drew  in  a  quick  breath 
as  if  to  speak;  and  then  a  sudden  sense  of  his  own 
danger,  and  an  overwhelming  disgust  for  his  weak- 
ness swept  over  him ;  and  the  intense  passion  the 
girl  had  aroused  in  his  heart  changed  to  unrea- 
sonable anger. 

,  "Miss  Dumont,"  he  said  coldly,  "I  think  we 
will  have  to  dispense  with  your  services  after  to- 
night. Your  duties  are  evidently  too  hard  for  you. 
You  can  leave  the  office  at  any  time  you  wish. 
Good-night." 

The  girl  shrank  as  if  he  had  struck  her,  looked 
up  at  him  with  wide,  wondering  eyes,  waited  for 
a  moment  as  if  expecting  to  be  recalled,  then,  as 
Mr.  Cheney  wheeled  his  chair  about  and  turned 
his  back  upon  her,  she  suddenly  sped  away  without 
a  word. 

She  left  the  office  a  few  moments  later;  but  it 
was  not  until  after  eleven  o'clock  that  she  dragged 
herself  up  two  flights  of  stairs  toward  her  room 


86  AN  AMBITIOUS  MAW 

on  the  attic  floor  at  the  Palace.  She  had  been 
walking  the  streets  like  a  mad  creature  all  that 
intervening  time,  trying  to  still  the  agonizing  pain 
in  her  heart.  Preston  Cheney  had  long  been  her 
ideal  of  all  that  was  noble,  grand  and  good,  she 
worshiped  him  as  devout  pagans  worshiped  their 
sacred  idols;  and  without  knowing  it,  she  gave 
him  the  absorbing  passion  which  an  intense  wom- 
an gives  to  her  lover. 

It  was  only  now  that  he  had  treated  her  with 
such  rough  brutality,  and  discharged  her  from  his 
employ  for  so  slight  a  cause,  that  the  knowledge 
burst  upon  her  tortured  heart  of  all  he  was  to  her. 

She  paused  at  the  foot  of  the  third  and  last 
flight  of  stairs  with  a  strange  dizziness  in  her 
head  and  a  sinking  sensation  at  her  heart. 

A  little  less  than  half  an  hour  afterward  Pres- 
ton Cheney  unlocked  the  street  door  and  came  in 
for  the  night.  He  had  done  double  his  usual 
amount  of  work  and  had  finished  his  duties  earlier 
than  usual.  To  avoid  thinking  after  he  sent 
Berene  away,  he  had  turned  to  his  desk  and 
plunged  into  his  labor  with  feverish  intensity. 
He  wrote  a  particularly  savage  editorial  on  the 
matter  of  over-immigration,  and  his  leaders  on 
political  questions  of  the  day  were  all  tinctured 
with  a  bitterness  and  sarcasm  quite  new  to  his 
pen.  At  midnight  that  pen  dropped  from  his 


AN  AMBITIOUS  MAN  37 

nerveless  hand,  and  he  made  his  way  toward  the 
Palace  in  a  most  unenviable  state  of  mind  and 
body. 

Yet  he  believed  he  had  done  the  right  thing 
both  in  engaging  himself  to  Miss  Lawrence  and  in 
discharging  Berene.  Her  constant  presence  about 
the  office  was  of  all  things  the  most  undesirable 
in  his  new  position. 

"But  I  might  have  done  it  in  a  decent  manner 
if  I  had  not  lost  all  control  of  myself,"  he  said 
as  he  walked  home.  "It  was  brutal  the  way  I 
spoke  to  her;  poor  child,  she  looked  as  if  I  had 
beat  her  with  a  bludgeon.  Well,  it  is  just  as  well 
perhaps  that  I  gave  her  good  reason  to  despise 
me." 

Since  Berene  had  gone  into  the  young  man's 
office  as  an  employe  her  good  taste  and  another 
reason  had  caused  her  to  avoid  him  as  much  as 
possible  in  the  house.  He  seldom  saw  more  than  a 
passing  glimpse  of  her  in  the  halls,  and  frequently 
whole  days  elapsed  that  he  met  her  only  in  the 
office.  The  young  man  never  suspected  that  this 
fact  was  due  in  great  part  to  the  suggestion  of 
jealousy  in  the  manner  of  the  Baroness  toward 
the  young  girl  ever  after  he  had  shown  so  much 
interest  in  her  welfare.  Sensitive  to  the  mental 
atmosphere  about  her,  as  a  wind  harp  to  the  light- 
est breeze  Berene  felt  this  unexpressed  sentiment 


88  AN  AMBITIOUS  MAN 

in  the  breast  of  her  "benefactress"  and  strove  to 
avoid  anything  which  could  aggravate  it. 

With  a  lagging  step  and  a  listless  air,  Preston 
made  his  way  up  the  first  of  two  flights  of  stairs 
which  intervened  between  the  street  door  and  his 
room.  The  first  floor  was  in  darkness;  but  in  the 
upper  hall  a  dim  light  was  always  left  burning 
until  his  return.  As  he  reached  the  landing,  he 
was  startled  to  see  a  woman's  form  lying  at  the 
foot  of  the  attic  stairs,  but  a  few  feet  from  the 
door  of  his  room.  Stooping  down,  he  uttered  a 
sudden  exclamation  of  pained  surprise,  for  it  was 
upon  the  pallid,  unconscious  face  of  Berene  Du- 
mont  that  his  eyes  fell.  He  lifted  the  lithe  figure 
in  his  sinewy  arms,  and  with  light,  rapid  steps 
bore  her  up  the  stairs  and  in  through  the  open 
door  of  her  room. 

"If  she  is  dead,  I  am  her  murderer, "  he  thought. 
But  at  that  moment  she  opened  her  eyes  and  looked 
full  into  his,  with  a  gaze  which  made  his  impetu- 
ouSjUncontrolled  heart  forget  that  any  one  or  any- 
thing existed  on  earth  but  this  girl  and  his  love 
for  her. 


CHAPTER  V. 

ONE  of  the  greatest  factors  in  the  preservation 
of  the  Baroness'  beauty  had  been  her  ability  to 
sleep  under  all  conditions.  The  woman  who  can 
and  does  sleep  eight  or  nine  hours  out  of  each 
twenty-four  is  well  armed  against  the  onslaught 
of  time  and  trouble. 

To  say  that  such  women  do  not  possess  heart 
enough  or  feeling  enough  to  suffer  is  ofttimes 
most  untrue. 

Insomnia  is  a  disease  of  the  nerves  or  of  the 
stomach,  rather  than  the  result  of  extreme 
emotion.  Sometimes  the  people  who  sleep 
the  most  profoundly  at  night  in  times  of  sor- 
row, suffer  the  more  intensely  during  their 
waking  hours.  Disguised  as  a  friend,  deceit- 
ful Slumber  comes  to  them  only  to  strengthen 
their  powers  of  suffering,  and  to  lend  a  new  edge 
to  pain. 

The  Baroness  was  not  without  feeling.  Her 
temperament  was  far  from  phlegmatic.  She  had 
experienced  great  cyclones  of  grief  and  loss  in 
her  varied  career,  though  many  years  had  elapsed 


40  AN  AMBITIOUS   MAN 

since  she  had  known  what  the  French  call  a 
"white  night." 

But  the  night  following  her  interview  with  Pres- 
ton Cheney  she  never  closed  her  eyes  in  sleep.  It 
was  in  vain  that  she  tried  all  known  recipes  for 
producing  slumber.  She  said  the  alphabet  back- 
ward ten  times,  she  counted  one  thousand,  she 
conjured  up  visions  of  sleep,  jumping  the  time- 
honored  fence  in  battalions,  yet  the  sleep  god 
never  once  drew  near. 

"I  am  certainly  a  brilliant  illustration  of  the 
saying  that  there  is  no  fool  like  an  old  fool,"  she 
said  to  herself  as  the  night  wore  on,  and  the 
strange  sensation  of  pain  and  loss  which  Preston 
Cheney's  unexpected  announcement  had  caused 
her,  gnawed  at  her  breast  like  a  rat  in  a  wainscot. 

That  she  had  been  unusually  interested  in  the 
young  editor  she  knew  from  the  first;  that  she  had 
been  mortally  wounded  by  Cupid's  shaft  she  only 
now  discovered.  She  had  passed  through  a  di- 
vorce, two  "affairs"  and  a  legitimate  widowhood, 
without  feeling  any  of  the  keen  emotions  which 
now  drove  sleep  from  her  eyes.  A  long  time  ago, 
longer  than  she  cared  to  remember,  she  had  expe- 
rienced such  emotions,  but  she  had  supposed  such 
folly  only  possible  in  the  high  tide  of  early  youth. 
It  was  absurd,  nay  more,  it  was  ridiculous  to  lie 
awake  at  her  time  of  life  thinking  about  a  penni- 


AN  AMBITIOUS  MAN  41 

less  country  youth  whose  mother  she  might  almost 
have  been.  In  this  bitterly  frank  fashion,  the 
Baroness  reasoned  with  herself  as  she  lay  quite 
still  in  her  luxurious  bed,  and  tried  to  sleep. 

Yet  despite  her  frankness,  her  philosophy  and 
her  reasoning,  the  rasping  hurt  at  her  heart  re- 
mained— a  hurt  so  cruel  it  seemed  to  her  the 
end  of  all  peace  or  pleasure  in  life. 

It  is  harder  to  bear  the  suffocating  heat  of  a 
late  September  day  which  the  year  sometimes 
brings,  than  all  the  burning  June  suns. 

The  Baroness  heard  the  click  of  Preston's  key 
in  the  street  door,  and  she  listened  to  his  slow  step 
as  he  ascended  the  stairs.  She  heard  him  pause, 
too,  and  waited  for  the  sound  of  the  opening  of 
his  room  door,  which  was  situated  exactly  above 
her  own.  But  she  listened  in  vain,  her  ears, 
brain  and  heart  on  the  alert  with  surprise,  curi- 
osity, and  at  last  suspicion.  The  Baroness  was  as 
full  of  curiosity  as  a  cat. 

It  was  not  until  just  before  dawn  that  she  heard 
his  step  in  the  hall,  and  his  door  open  and  close, 

An  hour  later  a  sharp  ring  came  at  the  street 
door  bell.  A  message  for  Mr.  Preston,  the  servant 
said,  in  answer  to  her  mistress'  question  as  she 
descended  from  the  room  above. 

"Was  Mr.  Preston  awake  when  you  rapped  on 
his  door?"  asked  the  Baroness. 


42  AN  AMBITIOUS  MAN 

"Yes,  madame,  awake  and  dressed." 
Mr.  Preston  ran  hurriedly  through  the  halls  and 
out  to  the  street  a  moment  later ;  and  the  Baroness, 
clothed  in  a  dressing-gown  and  silken  slippers, 
tiptoed  lightly  to  his  room.  The  bed  had  not  been 
occupied  the  whole  night.  On  the  table  lay  a  note 
which  the  young  man  had  begun  when  interrupted 
by  the  message  which  he  had  thrown  down  beside 
it. 

The  Baroness  glanced  at  the  note,  on  which  the 
ink  was  still  moist,  and  read,  "My  dear  Miss 
Lawrence,  I  want  you  to  release  me  from  the  ties 
formed  only  yesterday — I  am  basely  unworthy — " 
here  the  note  ended.  She  now  turned  her  atten- 
tion to  the  message  which  had  prevented  the  com- 
pletion of  the  letter.  It  was  signed  by  Judge 
Lawrence  and  ran  as  follows. 

"MY  DEAR  BOY: — My  wife  was  taken  mortally 
ill  this  morning  just  before  daybreak.  She  cannot 
live  many  hours,  our  physician  says.  Mabel  is  in 
a  state  of  complete  nervous  prostration  caused  by 
the  shock  of  this  calamity.  I  wish  you  would  come 
to  us  at  once.  I  fear  for  my  dear  child's  reason 
unless  you  prove  able  to  calm  and  quiet  her  through 
this  ordeal.  Hasten  then,  my  dear  son;  every 
moment  before  you  arrive  will  aeem  an  age  of  gor- 
row  and  anxiety  to  me.  S.  LAWRENCE." 


AN   AMBITIOUS    MAN  48 

A  strange  smile  curved  the  corners  of  the  Bar- 
oness' lips  as  she  finished  reading  this  note 
and  tiptoed  down  the  stairs  to  her  own  room 
again. 

Meantime  the  hour  for  her  hot  water  arrived, 
and  Berene  did  not  appear.  The  Baroness  drank 
a  quart  of  hot  water  every  morning  as  a  tonic  for 
her  system,  and  another  quart  after  breakfast  to 
reduce  her  flesh.  Her  excellent  digestive  powers 
and  the  clear  condition  of  her  blood  she  attributed 
largely  to  this  habit. 

After  a  few  moments  she  rang  the  bell  vigor- 
ously. Maggie,  the  chambermaid,  came  in  an- 
swer to  the  call. 

"Please  ask  Miss  Dumont"  (Berene  was  always 
known  to  the  other  servants  as  Miss  Dumont)  "to 
hurry  with  the  hot  water,"  the  Baroness  said. 

"Miss  Dumont  has  not  yet  come  downstairs, 
madame." 

"  Not  come  down  ?  Then  will  you  please  call  her, 
Maggie?" 

The  Baroness  was  always  polite  to  her  servants. 
She  had  observed  that  a  graciousness  of  speech 
toward  her  servants  often  made  up  for  a  deficien- 
cy in  wages.  Maggie  ascended  to  Miss  Dumont's 
room,  and  returned  with  the  information  that 
Miss  Dumont  had  a  severe  headache,  and  begged 
the  indulgence  of  madame  this  morning. 


44  AN  AMBITIOUS  MAN 

Again  that  strange  smile  curved  the  corners  of 
the  Baroness'  lips. 

Maggie  was  requested  to  bring  up  hot  water  and 
coffee,  and  great  was  her  surprise  to  find  the  Bar- 
oness moving  about  the  room  when  she  appeared 
with  the  tray. 

Half  an  hour  later  Berene  Dumont,  standing 
by  an  open  window  with  her  hands  clasped  behind 
her  head, heard  a  light  tap  on  her  door.  In  answer 
to  a  mechanical  "Come,"  the  Baroness  appeared. 

The  rustle  of  her  silken  morning  gown  caused 
Berene  to  turn  suddenly  and  face  her;  and  as  she 
met  the  eyes  of  her  visitor  the  young  woman's 
pallor  gave  place  to  a  wave  of  deep  crimson,  which 
dyed  her  face  and  neck  like  the  shadow  of  a  red 
flag  falling  on  a  camelia  blossom. 

"Maggie  tells  me  you  are  ill  .this  morning,"  the 
Baroness  remarked  after  a  moment's  silence.  "I 
am  surprised  to  find  you  up  and  dressed.  I  came 
to  see  if  I  could  do  anything  for  you." 

"You  are  very  kind,"  Berene  answered,  while 
in  her  heart  she  thought  how  cruel  was  the  ex- 
pression in  the  face  of  the  woman  before  her,  and 
how  faded  she  appeared  in  the  morning  light 
"  But  I  think  I  shall  be  quite  well  in  a  little  while. 
I  only  need  to  keep  quiet  for  a  few  hours. " 

"  I  fear  you  passed  a  sleepless  night, "  the  Bar- 
oness remarked  with  a  solicitous  tone,  but  with 


AN  AMBITIOUS   MAN  45 

the  same  cruel  smile  upon  her  lips.  "I  see  you 
never  opened  your  bed.  Something  must  have 
been  in  the  air  to  keep  us  all  awake.  I  did  not 
sleep  an  hour,  and  Mr.  Cheney  never  entered  his 
room  till  near  morning.  Yet  I  can  understand 
his  wakefulness — he  announced  his  engagement  to 
Miss  Mabel  Lawrence  to  me  last  evening,  and  a 
young  man  is  not  expected  to  woo  sleep  easily 
after  taking  such  an  important  step  as  that. 
Judge  Lawrence  sent  for  him  a  few  hours  ago  to 
come  and  support  Miss  Mabel  during  the  trial  that 
the  day  is  to  bring  them  in  the  death  of  Mrs. 
Lawrence.  Tha  physician  has  predicted  the  poor 
invalid's  near  end.  Sorrow  follows  close  on  joy 
in  this  life." 

There  was  a  moment's  silence;  then  Miss  Du- 
mont  said:  "I  think  I  will  try  to  get  a  little 
sleep  now,  madame.  I  thank  you  for  your  kind 
interest  in  me." 

The  Baroness  descended  to  her  room  humming 
an  air  from  an  old  opera,  and  settled  to  the  task 
of  removing  as  much  as  possible  all  evidences  of 
fatigue  and  sleeplessness  from  her  countenance. 

It  has  been  said  very  prettily  of  the  spruce  tree, 
that  it  keeps  the  secret  of  its  greenness  well;  so 
well  that  we  hardly  know  when  it  sheds  its  leaves. 
There  are  women  who  resemble  the  spruce  in  their 
perennial  youth,  and  the  vigilance  with  which 


46  AN  AMBITIOUS   MAN 

they  guard  the  secret  of  it.  The  Baroness  was  one 
of  these.  Only  her  mirror  shared  this  secret. 

She  was  an  adept  at  the  art  of  preservation,  and 
greatly  as  she  disliked  physical  exertion,  she  toiled 
laboriously  over  her  own  person  an  hour  at  least 
every  day,  and  never  employed  a  maid  to  assist 
her.  One's  rival  might  buy  one's  maid,  she  rea- 
soned, and  it  was  well  to  have  no  confidant  in 
these  matters. 

She  slipped  off  her  dressing-gown  and  corset, 
and  set  herself  to  the  task  of  pinching  and  maul- 
ing her  throat,  arms  and  shoulders,  to  remove  su- 
perfluous flesh,  and  strengthen  muscles  and  fibers 
to  resist  the  flabby  tendencies  which  time  produces. 
Then  she  used  the  dumb-bells  vigorously  for  fif- 
teen minutes,  and  that  was  followed  by  five  min- 
utes of  relaxation.  Next  she  lay  on  the  floor  flat 
upon  her  face,  her  arms  across  her  back,  and  lifted 
her  head  and  chest  twenty-five  times.  This  exer- 
cise was  to  replace  flesh  with  muscle  across  the 
abdomen.  Then  she  rose  to  her  feet,  set  her  small 
heels  together,  turned  her  toes  out  squarely,  and 
keeping  her  body  upright,  bent  her  knees  out  in  a 
line  with  her  hips,  sinking  and  rising  rapidly  fif- 
teen times.  This  produced  pliancy  of  the  body, 
and  induced  a  healthy  condition  of  the  loins  and 
adjacent  organs. 

To  further  fight  against  the  deadly  enemy  of 


AN  AMBITIOUS  MAN  47 

obesity,  she  lifted  her  arms  above  her  head  slowly 
until  she  touched  her  finger  tips,  at  the  same 
time  rising  upon  her  tiptoes,  while  she  inhaled  a 
long  breath,  and  as  slowly  dropped  to  her  heels, 
and  lowered  her  arms  while  she  exhaled  her  breath. 
While  these  exercises  had  been  taking  place,  a  tin 
cup  of  water  had  been  coming  to  the  boiling  point 
over  an  alcohol  lamp.  This  was  now  poured  into 
a  china  bowl  containing  a  small  quantity  of  sweet 
milk,  which  was  always  brought  on  her  break, 
fast  tray. 

The  Baroness  seated  herself  before  her 
mirror,  in  a  glare  of  cruel  light  which  revealed 
every  blemish  in  her  complexion,  every  line  about 
the  mouth  and  eyes. 

" You  are  really  hideously  passee,  mon  amie," 
she  observed  as  she  peered  at  herself  searchingly; 
"but  we  will  remedy  all  that." 

Dipping  a  soft  linen  handkerchief  in  the  bowl 
of  steaming  milk  and  water,  she  applied  it  to  her 
face,  holding  it  closely  over  the  brow  and  eyes. 
and  about  the  mouth,  until  every  pore  was  sat- 
urated and  every  weary  drawn  tissue  fed  and 
strengthened  by  the  tonic.  After  this  she  dashed 
ice-cold  water  over  her  face.  Still  there  were 
little  folds  at  the  corners  of  the  eyelids,  and  an 
ugly  line  across  the  brow,  and  these  were  manip- 
ulated with  painstaking  care,  and  treated  with 


48  AN  AMBITIOUS  MAN 

mysterious  oils  and  fragrant  astringents  and  final- 
ly washed  in  cool  toilet  water  and  lightly  brushed 
with  powder,  until  at  the  end  of  an  hour's  labor, 
the  face  of  the  Baroness  had  resumed  its  rose-leaf 
bloom  and  transparent  smoothness  for  which  she 
was  so  famous.  And  when  by  the  closest  inspec- 
tion at  her  mirror  in  the  broadest  light,  she  saw 
no  flaw  in  skin,  hair,  or  teeth,  the  Baroness  pro- 
ceeded to  dress  for  a  drive.  Even  the  most  jeal- 
ous rival  would  have  been  obliged  to  concede  that 
she  looked  like  a  woman  of  twenty-eight,  that 
most  fascinating  of  all  ages,  as  she  took  her  seat 
in  the  carriage. 

In  the  early  days  of  her  life  in  Beryngford,  when 
as  the  Baroness  Le  Fevre  she  had  led  society  in 
the  little  town,  Mrs.  Lawrence  had  been  one  of 
her  most  devoted  friends,  Judge  Lawrence  one 
of  her  most  earnest,  if  silent  admirers.  As  "Bar- 
oness Brown"  and  as  the  landlady  of  the  "Pal- 
ace" she  had  still  maintained  her  position  as 
friend  of  the  family,  and  the  Lawrences,  secure  in 
their  wealth  and  power,  had  allowed  her  to  do  so, 
where  some  of  the  lower  social  lights  had  dropped 
her  from  their  visiting  lists. 

The  Baroness  seemed  to  exercise  a  sort  of  hyp- 
notic power  over  the  fretful,  nervous  invalid  who 
shared  Judge  Lawrence's  name,  and  this  influence 
was  not  wholly  lost  upon  the  Judge  himself,  who 


AN  AMBITIOUS  MAN  49 

never  looked  upon  the  Baroness'  abundant  charms, 
glowing  with  health,  without  giving  vent  to  a  pro- 
found sigh  like  some  hungry  child  standing  before 
a  confectioner's  window. 

The  news  of  Mrs.  Lawrence's  dangerous  illness 
was  voiced  about  the  town  by  noon,  and  there- 
fore the  Baroness  felt  safe  in  calling  at  the  door 
to  make  inquiries,  and  to  offer  any  assistance 
which  she  might  be  able  to  render.  Knowing  her 
intimate  relations  with  the  mistress  of  the  house, 
the  servant  admitted  her  to  the  parlor  and  an- 
nounced her  presence  to  Judge  Lawrence,  who  left 
the  bedside  of  the  invalid  to  tell  the  caller  in  per- 
son that  Mrs.  Lawrence  had  fallen  into  a  peaceful 
slumber,  and  that  slight  hopes  were  entertained 
of  her  possible  recovery.  Scarcely  had  the  words 
passed  his  lips,  however,  when  the  nurse  in  attend- 
ance hurriedly  called  him.  "Mrs.  Lawrence  is 
deadl"  she  cried.  "She  breathed  only  twice  after 
you  left  the  room." 

The  Baroness,  shocked  and  startled,  rose  to  go, 
feeling  that  her  presence  longer  would  be  an  in- 
trusion. 

"Do  not  go,"  cried  the  Judge  in  tones  of  dis- 
tress. "Mabel  is  nearly  distracted,  and  this  news 
will  excite  her  still  further.  We  thought  this 
morning  that  she  was  on  the  verge  of  serious  men- 
tal disorder.  I  sent  for  her  fiance,  Mr.  Cheney, 


50  AN  AMBITIOUS  MAN 

and  he  has  calmed  her  somewhat.  You  always  ex- 
erted a  soothing  and  restful  influence  over  my 
wife,  and  you  may  have  the  same  power  with 
Mabel.  Stay  with  us,  I  beg  of  you,  through  the 
afternoon  at  least." 

The  Baroness  sent  her  carriage  home  and  re- 
mained in  the  Lawrence  mansion  until  the  follow- 
ing morning.  The  condition  of  Miss  Lawrence 
was  indeed  serious.  She  passed  from  one  attack 
of  hysteria  to  another,  and  it  required  the  con- 
stant attention  of  her  fiance  and  her  mother's 
friend  to  keep  her  from  acts  of  violence. 

It  was  after  midnight  when  she  at  last  fell 
asleep,  and  Preston  Cheney  in  a  state  of  complete 
exhaustion  was  shown  to  a  room,  while  the  Bar- 
oness remained  at  the  bedside  of  Miss  Lawrence. 

When  the  Baroness  and  Mr.  Cheney  returned  to 
the  Palace  they  were  struck  with  consternation  to 
learn  that  Miss  Dumont  had  packed  her  trunk  and 
departed  from  Beryngford  on  the  three  o'clock 
train  the  previous  day. 

A  brief  note  thanking  the  Baroness  for  her  kind- 
ness, and  stating  that  she  had  imposed  upon  that 
kindness  quite  too  long,  was  her  only  farewell. 
There  was  no  allusion  to  her  plans  or  her  desti- 
nation, and  all  inquiry  and  secret  search  failed  to 
find  one  trace  of  her.  She  seemed  to  vanish  like 
a  phantom  from  the  face  of  the  earth. 


AN  AMBITIOUS  MAN  51 

No  one  had  seen  her  leave  the  Palace,  save  the 
laundress,  Mrs.  Connor;  and  little  this  humble 
personage  dreamed  that  Fate  was  reserving  for  her 
an  important  role  in  the  drama  of  a  life  as  yet 
unborn. 


CHAPTER  VI. 

WHATEVER  hope  of  escape  from  his  self-imposed 
bondage  Preston  Cheney  had  entertained  when  he 
began  the  note  to  his  fiance'e  which  the  Baroness 
had  read,  completely  vanished  during  the  weeks 
which  followed  the  death  of  Mrs.  Lawrence. 

Mabel's  nervous  condition  was  alarming,  and 
her  father  seemed  to  rely  wholly  upon  his  future 
son-in-law  for  courage  and  moral  support  during 
the  trying  ordeal.  Like  most  large  men  of  strong 
physique,  Judge  Lawrence  was  as  helpless  as  an 
infant  in  the  presence  of  an  ailing  woman;  and 
his  experience  as  the  husband  of  a  wife  whose 
nerves  were  the  only  notable  thing  about  her,  had 
given  him  an  absolute  terror  of  feminine  invalids. 

Mabel  had  never  been  very  fond  of  her  mother; 
she  had  not  been  a  loving  or  a  dutiful  daughter. 
A  petulant  child  and  an  irritable,  fault-finding 
young  woman,  who  had  often  been  devoid  of  sym- 
pathy for  her  parents,  she  now  exhibited  such  an 
excess  of  grief  over  the  death  of  her  mother  that 
her  reason  seemed  to  be  threatened. 
52 


4N  AMBITIOUS  MAN  53 

It  was,  iii  fact,  quite  as  much  anger  as  grief 
which  caused  her  nervous  paroxysms.  Mabel 
Lawrence  had  never  since  her  infancy  known  what 
it  was  to  be  thwarted  in  a  wish.  Both  parents  had 
been  slaves  to  her  slightest  caprice  and  she  had 
ruled  the  household  with  a  look  or  a  word.  Death 
had  suddenly  deprived  her  of  a  mother  who  was 
necessary  to  her  comfort  and  to  whose  presence 
she  was  accustomed,  and  her  heart  was  full  of 
angry  resentment  at  the  fate  which  had  dared  to 
take  away  a  member  of  her  household.  It  had 
never  entered  her  thoughts  that  death  could  dev- 
astate her  home. 

Other  people  lost  fathers  and  mothers,  of  course; 
but  that  Mabel  Lawrence  could  be  deprived  of  a 
parent  seemed  incredible.  Anger  is  a  strong  in- 
gredient in  the  excessive  grief  of  every  selfish 
nature. 

Preston  Cheney  became  more  and  more  disheart- 
ened with  the  prospect  of  his  future,  as  he  studied 
the  character  and  temperament  of  his  fiancee  dur- 
ing her  first  weeks  of  loss. 

But  the  net  which  he  had  woven  was  closing 
closer  and  closer  about  him,  and  every  day  he 
became  more  hopelessly  entangled  in  its  meshes. 

At  the  end  of  one  month,  the  family  physician 
decided  that  travel  and  change  of  air  and  scene 
was  an  imperative  necessity  for  Miss  Lawrence. 


54  AN   AMBITIOUS   MAN 

Judge  Lawrence  was  engaged  in  some  important 
legal  matters  which  rendered  an  extended  journey 
impossible  for  him.  To  trust  Mabel  in  the  hands 
of  hired  nurses  alone,  was  not  advisable.  It  was 
her  father  who  suggested  an  early  marriage  and 
a  European  trip  for  bride  and  groom,  as  the  wisest 
expedient  under  the  circumstances. 

Like  the  prisoner  in  the  iron  room,  who  saw  the 
walls  slowly  but  surely  closing  in  to  crush  out  his 
life,  Preston  Cheney  saw  his  wedding  day  ap- 
proaching, and  knew  that  his  doom  was  sealed. 

There  were  many  desperate  hours,  when,  had  he 
possessed  the  slightest  clue  to  the  hiding  place  of 
Berene  Dumont,  he  would  have  flown  to  her  even 
knowing  that  he  left  disgrace  and  death  behind 
him.  He  realized  that  he  now  owed  a  duty  to  the 
girl  he  loved,  higher  and  more  imperative  by  far 
than  any  he  owed  to  his  fiancee.  But  he  had  not 
the  means  to  employ  a  detective  to  find  Berene; 
and  he  was  not  sure  that,  if  found,  she  might  not 
spurn  him.  He  had  heard  and  read  of  cases  where 
a  woman's  love  had  turned  to  bitter  loathing  and 
hatred  for  the  man  who  had  not  protected  her  in 
a  moment  of  weakness.  He  could  think  of  no  other 
cause  which  would  lead  Berene  to  disappear  in 
such  a  mysterious  manner  at  such  a  time,  and 
so  the  days  passed,  and  he  married  Mabel  Law- 
rence two  months  after  the  death  of  her  mother, 


AN  AMBITIOUS   MAN  55 

and  the  young  couple  set  forth  immediately  on 
extended  foreign  travels.  Fifteen  months  later 
they  returned  to  Beryngford  with  their  infant 
daughter  Alice.  Mrs.  Cheney  was  much  improved 
in  health,  though  still  a  great  sufferer  from  nerv- 
ous disorders,  a  misfortune  which  the  child  seemed 
to  inherit.  She  would  lie  and  scream  for  hours 
at  a  time,  clenching  her  small  fists  and  growing 
purple  in  the  face,  and  all  efforts  of  parents,  nurses 
or  physicians  to  soothe  her,  served  only  to  fur-t 
ther  increase  her  frenzy.  She  screamed  and  beat 
the  air  with  her  thin  arms  and  legs  until  nature 
exhausted  itself,  then  she  fell  into  a  heavy  slum- 
ber and  awoke  in  good  spirits. 

These  attacks  came  on  frequently  in  the  night, 
and  as  they  rendered  Mrs.  Cheney  very  "nervous," 
and  caused  a  panic  among  the  nurses,  it  devolved 
upon  the  unhappy  father  to  endeavor  to  soothe 
the  violent  child.  And  while  he  walked  the  floor 
with  her  or  leaned  over  her  crib  using  all  his 
strong  mental  powers  to  control  these  unfortunate 
paroxysms,  no  vision  came  to  him  of  another  child 
lying  cuddled  in  her  mother's  arms  in  a  dist  ant 
town,  a  child  of  wonderful  beauty  and  angelic  na- 
ture, born  of  love  and  inheriting  love's  divine 
qualities. 

A  few  months  before  theyonng  couple  returned 
to  their  native  soil,  they  received  a  letter  which 


56  AN  AMBITIOUS  MAN 

caused  Preston  the  greatest  astonishment  and 
Mabel  some  hours  of  hysterical  weeping.  This 
letter  was  written  by  Judge  Lawrence  and  an- 
nounced his  marriage  to  Baroness  Brown.  Judge 
Lawrence  had  been  a  widower  more  than  a  year 
when  the  Baroness  took  the  book  of  his  heart,  in 
which  he  supposed  the  hand  of  romance  had  long 
ago  written  "finis,"  and  turning  it  to  his  aston- 
ished eyes,  revealed  a  whole  volume  of  love's  love. 

It  is  in  the  second  reading  of  their  hearts 
that  the  majority  of  men  find  the  most  interest- 
ing literature. 

Before  the  Baroness  had  been  three  months  his 
wife,  the  long  years  of  martyrdom  he  had  endured 
as  the  husband  of  Mabel's  mother  seemed  like  a 
nightmare  dream  to  Judge  Lawrence;  and  all  of 
life,  hope  and  happiness  was  embodied  in  the 
woman  who  ruled  his  destiny  with  a  hypnotic 
sway  no  one  could  dispute,  yet  a  woman  whose 
heart  still  throbbed  with  a  stubborn  and  lawless 
passion  for  the  man  who  called  her  husband  father. 


CHAPTER  VII. 

MORE  than  two  decades  had  passed  since  Preston 
Cheney  followed  the  dictates  of  his  ambition  and 
married  Mabel  Lawrence. 

Many  of  his  early  hopes  and  desires  had  been 
realized  during  these  years.  He  had  attained  to 
high  political  positions;  and  honor  and  wealth 
were  his  to  enjoy.  Yet  Senator  Cheney,  as  he  was 
now  known,  was  far  from  a  happy  man.  Disap- 
pointment was  written  in  every  lineament  of  his 
face,  restlessness  and  discontent  spoke  in  his  every 
movement,  and  at  times  the  spirit  of  despair 
seemed  to  look  from  the  depths  of  his  eyes. 

To  a  man  of  any  nobility  of  nature,  there  can 
be  small  satisfaction  in  honors  which  he  knows 
are  bought  with  money  and  bribes;  and  to  the 
proud  young  American  there  was  the  additional 
sting  of  knowing  that  even  the  money  by  which 
his  honors  were  purchased  was  not  his  own. 

It  was  the  second  Mrs.  Lawrence  (still  desig- 
nated as  the  "Baroness"  by  her  step-daughter  and 
by  old  acquaintances)  to  whom  Preston  owed  the 
constant  reminder  of  his  dependence  upon  the 

er 


58  AW  AMBITIOUS   MAN 

purse  of  his  father-in-law.  In  those  subtle,  occult 
ways  known  only  to  a  jealous  and  designing  na- 
ture, the  Baroness  found  it  possible  to  make  Pres- 
ton's life  a  torture,  without  revealing  her  weapons 
of  warfare  to  her  husband;  indeed,  without  allow- 
ing him  to  even  smell  the  powder  while  she  still 
kept  up  a  constant  small  fire  upon  the  helpless 
enemy. 

Owing  to  the  fact  that  Mabel  had  come  as  com- 
pletely under  the  hypnotic  influence  of  the  Baron- 
ess as  the  first  Mrs.  Lawrence  had  been  during  her 
lifetime,  Preston  was  subjected  to  a  great  deal 
more  of  her  persecutions  than  would  otherwise 
have  been  possible.  Mabel  was  never  happier  than 
when  enjoying  the  companionship  of  her  new 
mother;  a  condition  of  things  which  pleased  the 
Judge  as  much  as  it  made  his  son-in-law  miserable. 

With  a  malicious  adroitness  possible  only  to  such 
a  woman  as  the  second  Mrs.  Lawrence,  she  en- 
deared herself  to  Mrs.  Cheney  by  a  thousand  flat- 
tering and  caressing  ways,  and  by  a  constant 
exhibition  of  sympathy,  which  to  a  weak  and  selfish 
nature  is  as  pleasing  as  it  is  distasteful  to  the 
proud  and  strong.  And  by  this  inexhaustible  flow 
of  sympathetic  feeling,  she  caused  the  wife  to 
drift  farther  and  farther  away  from  her  husband's 
influence,  and  to  accuse  him  of  all  manner  of 
shortcomings  and  faults  which  had  not  suggested 
themselves  to  her  own  mind. 


AN   AMBITIOUS  MAN  59 

Mabel  had  not  given  or  demanded  a  devoted 
love  when  she  married  Preston  Cheney.  She  was 
quite  satisfied  to  bear  his  name,  and  do  the  hon- 
ors of  his  house,  and  to  be  let  alone  as  much  as 
possible.  It  was  the  name,  not  the  estate  of  wife- 
hood  she  desired;  and  motherhood  she  had  ac- 
cepted with  reluctance  and  distaste. 

Never  was  a  more  undesired  or  unwelcome  child 
born  than  her  daughter  Alice,  and  the  helpless 
infant  shared  with  its  father  the  resentful  anger 
which  dominated  her  unwilling  mother  the 
wretched  months  before  its  advent  into  earth  life. 

To  be  let  alone  and  allowed  to  follow  her  own 
whims  and  desires,  and  never  to  be  crossed  in  any 
wish,  was  all  Mrs.  Cheney  asked  of  her  husband. 

This  role  was  one  he  had  very  willingly  permit- 
ted her  to  pursue,  since  with  every  passing  week 
and  month  he  found  less  and  less  to  win  or  bind 
him  to  his  wife.  Wretched  as  this  condition  of 
life  was,  it  might  at  least  have  settled  into  a 
monotonous  calm,  undisturbed  by  strife,  but  for 
the  molesting  "sympathy"  of  the  Baroness. 

"Poor  thing,  here  you  are  alone  again,"  she 
would  say  on  entering  the  house  where  Mabel 
lounged  or  lolled,  quite  content  with  her  situation 
until  the  tone  and  words  of  her  step-mother 
aroused  a  resentful  consciousness  of  being  neg- 
lected. Again  the  Baroness  would  say: 


60  AN  AMBITIOUS  MAN 

"I  do  think  you  are  such  a  brave  little  darling 
to  carry  so  smiling  a  face  about  with  all  you  have 
to  endure."  Or, "Very  few  wives  would  bear  what 
you  bear  and  hide  every  vestige  of  unhappiness 
from  the  world.  You  are  a  wonderful  and  admira- 
ble character  in  my  eyes."  Or,  "It  seems  so 
strange  that  your  husband  does  not  adore  you — 
but  men  are  blind  to  the  best  qualities  in  women 
like  you.  I  never  hear  Mr.  Cheney  praising  other 
women  without  a  sad  and  almost  resentful  feeling 
in  my  heart,  realizing  how  superior  you  are  to  all 
of  his  favorites. "  It  was  the  insidious  effect  of 
poisoned  flattery  like  this,  which  made  the  Baron- 
ess a  ruling  power  in  the  Cheney  household,  and 
at  the  same  time  turned  an  already  cold  and  unlov- 
ing wife  into  a  jealous  and  nagging  tyrant  who 
rendered  the  young  statesman's  home  the  most 
dreaded  place  on  earth  to  him,  and  caused  him 
to  live  away  from  it  as  much  as  possible. 

His  only  child,  Alice,  a  frail,  hysterical  girl, 
devoid  of  beauty  or  grace,  gave  him  but  little 
comfort  or  satisfaction.  Indeed  she  was  but  an 
added  disappointment  and  pain  in  his  life.  In- 
dulged in  every  selfish  thought  by  her  mother  and 
the  Baroness,  peevish  and  petulant,  always  ailing, 
complaining  and  discontented,  and  still  a  victim 
to  the  nervous  disorders  inherited  from  her  mother, 
it  was  small  wonder  that  Senator  Cheney  took 


AN  AMBITIOUS   MAN  61 

no  more  delight  in  the  role  of  father  than  he  had 
found  in  the  role  of  husband. 

Alice  was  given  every  advantage  which  money 
could  purchase.  But  her  delicate  health  had  ren- 
dered systematic  study  of  any  kind  impossible  and 
her  twentieth  birthday  found  her  with  no  educa- 
tion, with  no  use  of  her  reasoning  or  will  powers, 
but  with  a  complete  and  beautiful  wardrobe  in 
which  to  masquerade  and  air  her  poor  little  at- 
tempts at  music,  art,  or  conversation. 

Judge  Lawrence  died  when  Alice  was  fifteen 
years  of  age,  leaving  both  his  widow  and  his 
daughter  handsomely  provided  for. 

The  "Baroness"  not  only  possessed  the  Beryng- 
ford  homestead,  but  a  house  in  Washington  as 
well;  and  both  of  these  were  occupied  by  tenants, 
for  Mabel  insisted  upon  having  her  step-mother 
dwell  under  her  own  roof.  Senator  Cheney  had 
purchased  a  house  in  New  York  to  gratify  his  wife 
and  daughter,  and  it  was  here  the  family  resided 
when  not  in  Washington  or  at  the  seaside  resorts. 
Both  women  wished  to  forget,  and  to  make  others 
forget  that  they  had  ever  lived  in  Beryngford. 
They  never  visited  the  place  and  never  referred 
to  it.  They  desired  to  be  considered  "New  Yorkers" 
and  always  spoke  of  themselves  as  such. 

The  Baroness  was  now  hopelessly  passee.  Yet 
it  was  the  revealing  of  the  inner  woman,  rather 


62  AN  AMBITIOUS  MAN 

than  the  withering  of  the  exterior,  which  betrayed 
her  years.  The  woman  who  understands  the  art 
of  bodily  preservation  can,  with  constant  toil  and 
care,  retain  an  appearance  of  youth  and  charm 
into  middle  life;  but  she  who  would  pass  that 
dreaded  meridian  and  still  remain  a  goodly  sight 
for  the  eyes  of  men,  must  possess,  in  addition  to 
all  the  secrets  of  the  toilet,  those  divine  elixirs, 
unselfishness,  and  love  for  humanity.  Faith  in 
divine  powers,  too,  and  resignation  to  earthly  ills, 
must  do  their  part  to  lend  the  fading  eye  luster, 
and  to  give  a  softening  glow  to  the  paling  cheek. 
Before  middle  life,  it  is  the  outer  woman  who  is 
seen ;  after  middle  life,  skilled  as  she  may  be  by 
art  and  however  endowed  by  nature,  yet  the  inner 
woman  becomes  visible  to  the  least  discerning 
eye,  and  the  thoughts  and  feelings  which  have 
dominated  her  during  all  the  past,  are  shown  upon 
her  face  and  form  like  printed  words  upon  the 
open  leaves  of  a  book.  That  is  why  so  many  young 
beauties  become  ugly  old  ladies,  and  why  plain 
faces  sometimes  are  beautiful  in  age. 

The  Baroness  had  been  unremitting  in  the  care 
of  her  person,  and  she  had  by  this  toil  saved  her 
figure  from  becoming  gross,  retaining  the  upright 
carriage  and  the  tapering  waist  of  youth,  though 
she  was  upon  the  verge  of  her  sixtieth  birthday. 
Her  complexion,  too,  owing  to  her  careful  diet, 


AN   AMBITIOUS  MAN  68 

her  hours  of  repose,  and  her  knowledge  of  skin 
foods  and  lotions,  remained  smooth,  fair  and  un- 
furrowed.  But  the  long-guarded  expression  in  her 
blue  eyes  of  childlike  innocence  had  given  place 
to  the  hard  look  of  a  selfish  and  unhappy  nature, 
and  the  lines  about  the  small  mouth  accented  the 
expression  of  the  eyes. 

It  was,  despite  its  preservation  of  Nature's  gifts, 
and  despite  its  forced  smiles,  the  face  of  a  selfish, 
cruel  pessimist,  disappointed  in  her  past  and  with 
no  uplifting  faith  to  brighten  the  future. 

The  Baroness  had  been  the  wife  of  Judge  Law- 
rence a  number  of  years,  before  she  relinquished 
her  hopes  of  one  day  making  Preston  Cheney  re- 
spond to  the  passion  which  burned  unquenched  in 
her  breast.  It  had  been  with  the  idea  of  augment- 
ing the  interests  of  the  man  whom  she  believed  to 
be  her  future  lover,  that  she  aided  and  urged  on 
her  husband  in  his  efforts  to  procure  place  and 
honor  for  his  son-in-law. 

It  was  this  idea  which  caused  her  to  widen  the 
breach  between  wife  and  husband  by  every  subtle 
means  in  her  power;  and  it  was  when  this  idea 
began  to  lose  color  and  substance  and  drop  away 
among  the  wreckage  of  past  hopes,  that  the  Bar- 
oness ceased  to  compliment  and  began  to  taunt 
Preston  Cheney  with  his  dependence  upon  his 
father-in-law,  and  to  otherwise  goad  and  torment 


64  AN  AMBITIOUS  MAN 

the  unhappy  man.  And  Preston  Cheney  grew  into 
the  habit  of  staying  anywhere  longer  than  at 
home. 

During  the  last  ten  years  the  Baroness  had 
seemed  to  abandon  all  thoughts  of  gallant  adven- 
ture. When  the  woman  who  has  found  life  and 
pleasures  only  in  coquetry  and  conquest,  is  forced 
to  relinquish  these  delights,  she  becomes  either 
very  devout  or  very  malicious. 

The  Baroness  was  devoid  of  religious  feelings, 
and  she  became,  therefore,  the  most  bitter  and 
caustic  of  cynical  critics  at  heart,  though  she 
guarded  her  expression  of  these  sentiments  from 
policy. 

Yet  to  Mabel  she  expressed  herself  freely, 
knowing  that  her  listener  enjoyed  no  conversa- 
tion so  much  as  that  of  gossip  and  criticism.  A 
beautiful  or  attractive  woman  was  the  target 
for  her  most  cruel  shafts  of  sarcasm,  and  indeed 
no  woman  was  safe  from  her  secret  malice  save 
Mabel  and  Alice,  over  whom  she  found  it  a  great- 
er pleasure  to  exercise  her  hypnotic  control.  For 
Alice,  indeed,  the  Baroness  entertained  a  peculiar 
affection.  The  fact  that  she  was  the  child  of  the 
man  to  whom  she  had  given  the  strongest  passion 
of  her  life,  and  the  girl's  lack  of  personal  beauty, 
and  her  unfortunate  physical  condition,  awoke  a 
medley  of  love,  pity  and  protection  in  the  heart 
of  this  strange  woman. 


CHAPTER  VIII. 

THE  Baroness  had  always  been  a  church-going 
woman, yet  she  had  never  united  with  any  church, 
or  subscribed  to  any  creed. 

Religious  observance  was  only  an  implement  of 
social  warfare  with  her.  Wherever  her  lot  wag 
cast,  she  made  it  her  business  to  discover  which 
church  the  fashionable  people  of  the  town  fre- 
quented, and  to  become  a  familiar  and  liberal- 
handed  personage  in  that  edifice. 

Judge  Lawrence  and  his  family  were  High 
Church  Episcopalians,  and  the  second  Mrs.  Law- 
rence slipped  gracefully  into  the  pew  vacated  by 
the  first,  and  became  a  much  more  important 
feature  in  the  congregation,  owing  to  her  good 
health  and  extreme  desire  for  popularity.  Mabel 
and  Alice  were  devout  believers  in  the  orthodox 
dogmas  which  have  taken  the  place  of  the  simple 
teachings  of  Christ  in  so  many  of  our  churches  to- 
day. They  believed  that  people  who  did  not  go 
to  church  would  stand  a  very  poor  chance  of  heav- 
en ;  and  that  a  strict  observance  of  a  Sunday  re- 
ligion would  insure  them  a  passport  into  God's 
65 


66  AN  AMBITIOUS  MAN 

favor.  When  they  returned  from  divine  service 
and  mangled  the  character  and  attire  of  their 
neighbors  over  the  Sunday  dinner-table,  no  idea 
entered  their  heads  or  hearts  that  they  had 
sinned  against  the  Holy  Ghost.  The  pastor  of 
their  church  knew  them  to  be  selfish,  worldly- 
minded  women;  yet  he  administered  the  holy 
sacrament  to  them  without  compunction  of  con- 
science, and  never  by  question  or  remark  implied 
a  doubt  of  their  true  sincerity  in  things  religious. 
They  believed  in  the  creed  of  his  church,  and 
they  paid  liberally  for  the  support  of  that  church, 
What  more  could  he  ask? 

This  had  been  true  of  the  pastor  in  Beryngford, 
and  it  proved  equally  true  of  their  spiritual  ad- 
viser in  Washington  and  in  New  York. 

Just  across  the  aisle  from  the  Lawrences  sat  a 
rich  financier,  in  his  sumptuously  cushioned  pew. 
During  six  days  of  each  week  he  was  engaged  in 
crushing  life  and  hope  out  of  the  hearts  of  the  poor, 
under  his  juggernaut  wheels  of  monopoly.  His 
name  was  known  far  and  near,  as  that  of  a  pow- 
erful and  cruel  speculator,  who  did  not  hesitate 
to  pauperize  his  nearest  friends  if  they  placed 
themselves  in  his  reach.  That  he  was  a  thief  and 
a  robber,  no  one  ever  denied;  yet  so  colossal  were 
his  thefts,  so  bold  and  successful  his  robberies, 
the  public  gazed  upon  him  with  a  sort  of  stupefied 


AN   AMBITIOUS   MAN  67 

awe,  and  allowed  him  to  proceed,  while  miserable 
tramps,  who  stole  overcoats  or  robbed  money 
drawers,  were  incarcerated  for  a  term  of  years, 
and  then  sternly  refused  assistance  afterward  by 
good  people,  who  place  no  confidence  in  jail 
birds. 

But  each  Sunday  this  successful  robber  occu- 
pied his  high-priced  church  pew,  devoutly  listen- 
ing to  the  divine  word. 

He  never  failed  to  partake  of  the  holy  commu- 
nion, nor  was  his  right  to  do  so  ever  questioned. 

The  rector  of  the  church  knew  his  record  per- 
fectly; knew  that  his  gains  were  ill-gotten  blood 
money,  ground  from  the  suffering  poor  by  the 
power  of  monopoly,  and  from  confiding  fools  by 
smart  lures  and  scheming  tricks.  But  this  young 
clergyman,  having  recently  been  called  to  preside 
over  the  fashionable  church,  had  no  idea  of  being 
so  impolite  as  to  refuse  to  administer  the  bread 
and  wine  to  one  of  its  most  liberal  supporters! 

There  were  constant  demands  upon  the  treasury 
of  the  church ;  it  required  a  vast  outlay  of  money 
to  maintain  the  splendor  and  elegance  of  the  tem- 
ple which  held  its  head  so  high  above  many  oth- 
ers; and  there  were  large  charities  to  be  sustained, 
not  to  mention  its  rector's  princely  salary.  The 
millionaire  pew-holder  was  a  liberal  giver.  It 
rarely  occurs  to  the  fashionable  dispensers  of  spir- 


06  AN   AMBITIOUS   MAN 

itual  knowledge  to  ask  whether  the  devil's  money 
should  be  used  to  gild  the  Lord's  temple;  nor  to 
question  if  it  be  a  wise  religion  which  allows  a 
man  to  rob  his  neighbors  on  week  days,  to  give 
to  the  cause  of  charity  on  Sundays. 

And  yet  if  every  clergyman  and  priest  in  the 
land  were  to  make  and  maintain  these  standards 
for  their  followers,  there  might  be  an  astonishing 
decrease  in  the  needs  of  the  poor  and  unfortunate. 

Were  every  church  member  obliged  to  open 
his  month's  ledgers  to  a  competent  jury  of  inspec- 
tors, before  he  was  allowed  to  take  the  holy  sac- 
rament and  avow  himself  a  humble  follower  of 
Christ,  what  a  revolution  might  ensue !  How  church 
spires  would  crumble  for  lack  of  support, and  poor- 
houses  lessen  in  number  for  lack  of  inmates  I 

But  the  leniency  of  clergyman  toward  the  short- 
comings of  their  wealthy  parishioners  is  often  a 
touching  lesson  in  charity  to  the  thoughtful  ob- 
server who  stands  outside  the  fold. 

For  how  could  they  obtain  money  to  convert 
the  heathen,  unless  this  sweet  cloak  of  charity 
were  cast  over  the  sins  of  the  liberal  rich?  Christ 
is  crucified  by  the  fashionable  clergymen  to-day 
more  cruelly  than  He  was  by  the  Jews  of  old. 

Senator  Cheney  was  not  a  church  member,  and 
he  seldom  attended  service.  This  was  a  matter  of 
great  solicitude  to  his  wife  and  daughter.  The 


AN   AMBITIOUS  MAN  69 

Baroness  felt  it  to   be  a  mistake  on  the  part  of 

Senator  Cheney,  and  even  Judge  Lawrence,  who 
adored  his  eon-in-law,  regretted  the  young  man's 
indifference  to  things  spiritual.  But  with  all  Pres- 
ton Cheney's  worldly  ambitions  and  weaknesses, 
there  was  a  vein  of  sincerity  in  his  nature  which 
forbade  his  feigning  a  faith  he  did  not  feel;  and 
the  daily  lives  of  the  three  feminine  members  of 
his  family  were  so  in  disaccord  with  his  views  of 
religion  that  he  felt  no  incentive  to  follow  in 
their  footsteps.  Judge  Lawrence  he  knew  to  be  an 
honest,  loyal-hearted,  God  and  humanity  loving 
man.  "A  true  Christian  by  nature  and  educa- 
tion," he  said  of  his  father-in-law,  "but  lam  not 
born  with  his  tendency  to  religious  observance, 
and  I  see  less  and  less  in  the  churches  to  lead  me 
into  the  fold.  It  seems  to  me  that  these  religious 
institutions  are  getting  to  be  vast  monopolistic 
corporations  like  the  railroads  and  oil  trusts,  and 
the  like.  I  see  very  little  of  the  spirit  of  Christ 
in  orthodox  people  to-day." 

Meanwhile  Senator  Cheney's  purse  was  always 
open  to  any  demand  the  church  made;  he  believed 
in  churches  as  benevolent  if  not  soul-saving  in- 
stitutions, and  cheerfully  aided  their  charitable 
work. 

The  rector  of  St.  Blanks,  the  fashionable  edifice 
where  the  ladies  of  the  Cheney  household  obtained 


70  AN   AMBITIOUS   MAN 

spiritual  manna  in  New  York,  died  when  Alice 
was  sixteen  years  old.  He  was  a  good  old  man, 
and  a  sincere  Episcopalian,  and  whatever  origin- 
ality of  thought  or  expression  he  may  have 
lacked,  his  strict  observance  of  the  High  Church 
C'/des  of  ethics  maintained  the  tone  of  his  church 
and  rendered  him  an  object  of  reverence  to  his 
congregation.  His  successor  was  Reverend  Arthur 
Emerson  Stuart,  a  young  man  barely  thirty  years 
of  age,  heir  to  a  comfortable  fortune,  gifted  with 
strong  intellectual  powers  and  dowered  with  phys- 
ical attractions. 

It  was  not  a  case  of  natural  selection  which 
caused  Arthur  Stuart  to  adopt  the  church  as  a 
profession.  It  was  the  result  of  his  middle  name. 
Mrs.  Stuart  had  been  an  Emerson — in  some  re- 
mote way  her  family  claimed  relationship  with 
Ralph  Waldo.  Her  father  and  grandfather  and 
several  uncles  had  been  clergymen.  She  married 
a  broker,  who  left  her  a  rich  widow  with  one  child, 
a  son.  From  the  hour  this  son  was  born  his  moth- 
er designed  him  for  the  clergy,  and  brought  him 
up  with  that  idea  firmly  while  gently  fixed  in  his 
mind. 

Whatever  seed  a  mother  plants  in  a  young 
child's  mind,  carefully  watches  over,  prunes  and 
waters,  and  exposes  to  sun  and  shade,  is  quite  cer- 
tain to  grow,  if  the  soil  is  not  wholly  stony  ground. 


AN   AMBITIOUS   MAN  71 

Arthur  Stuart  adored  his  mother,  and  stifling 
some  commercial  instincts  inherited  from  the  pa- 
rental side,  he  turned  his  attention  to  the  minis- 
try and  entered  upon  his  chosen  work  when  only 
twenty-five  years  of  age.  Eloquent,  dramatic  in 
speech,  handsome,  and  magnetic  in  person,  inde- 
pendent in  fortune,  and  of  excellent  lineage  on 
the  mother's  side,  it  was  not  surprising  that  he 
was  called  to  take  charge  of  the  spiritual  welfare 
of  fashionable  St.  Blank's  Church  on  the  death  of 
the  old  pastor;  or  that  having  taken  the  charge, 
he  became  immensely  popular,  especially  with 
the  ladies  of  his  congregation.  And  from  the  first 
Sabbath  day  when  they  looked  up  from  their  ex- 
pensive pew  into  the  handsome  face  of  their  new 
rector,  there  was  but  one  man  in  the  world  for 
Mabel  Cheney  and  her  daughter  Alice,  and  that 
was  the  Reverend  Arthur  Emerson  Stuart. 

It  has  been  said  by  a  great  and  wise  teacher, 
that  we  may  worship  the  god  in  the  human  being, 
but  never  the  human  being  as  God.  This  distinc- 
tion is  rarely  drawn  by  women,  I  fear,  when  their 
spiritual  teacher  is  a  young  and  handsome  man. 
The  ladies  of  the  Rev.  Arthur  Stuart's  congrega- 
tion went  home  to  dream,  not  of  the  Creator  and 
Maker  of  all  things,  nor  of  the  divine  Man,  but 
of  the  handsome  face,  stalwart  form  and  mag- 
netic voice  of  the.young  rector.  They  feasted  their 


72  AN  AMBITIOUS  MAN 

eyes  upon  his  agreeable  person,  rather  than  their 
souls  upon  his  words  of  salvation.  Disappointed 
wives,  lonely  spinsters  and  romantic  girls  be- 
lieved they  were  coming  nearer  to  spiritual  truths 
in  their  increased  desire  to  attend  service,  while 
in  fact  they  were  merely  drawn  nearer  to  a  very 
attractive  male  personality. 

There  was  not  the  holy  flame  in  the  young  cler- 
gyman's own  heart  to  ignite  other  souls;  but  his 
strong  magnetism  was  perceptible  to  all,  and  they 
did  not  realize  the  difference.  And  meantime  the 
church  grew  and  prospered  amazingly. 

It  was  observed  by  the  congregation  of  St. 
Blanks  Church,  shortly  after  the  advent  of  the 
new  rector,  that  a  new  organist  also  occupied  the 
organ  loft;  and  inquiry  elicited  the  fact  that  the 
old  man  who  had  officiated  in  that  capacity  dur- 
ing many  years,  had  been  retired  on  a  pension, 
while  a  young  lady  who  needed  the  position  and 
the  salary  had  been  chosen  to  fill  the  vacancy. 

That  the  change  was  for  the  better  could  not 
be  questioned.  Never  before  had  such  music 
pealed  forth  under  the  tall  spires  of  St.  Blank's. 
The  new  organist  seemed  inspired;  and  many  peo- 
ple in  the  fashionable  congregation,  hearing  that 
this  wonderful  musician  was  a  young  woman,  lin- 
gered near  the  church  door  after  service  to  catch 
a  glimpse  of  her  as  she  descended  from  the  loft. 


AN  AMBITIOUS   MAN  73 

A  goodly  sight  she  was,  indeed,  for  human  eyes 
to  gaze  upon.  Young,  of  medium  height  and  per- 
fect symmetry  of  shape,  her  blonde  hair  and  satin 
skin  and  eyes  of  velvet  darkness  were  but  her 
lesser  charms.  That  which  riveted  the  gaze  of 
every  beholder,  and  drew  all  eyes  to  her  wherever 
she  passed,  was  her  air  of  radiant  health  and  hap- 
piness, which  emanated  from  her  like  the  perfume 
from  a  flower. 

A  sad  countenance  may  render  a  heroine  of  ro- 
mance attractive  in  a  book,  but  in  real  life  there 
is  no  charm  at  once  so  rare  and  so  fascinating  as 
happiness.  Did  you  ever  think  how  few  faces  of 
the  grown  up,  however  young,  are  really  happy  in 
expression?  Discontent,  restlessness,  longing, 
unsatisfied  ambition,  or  ill  health  mar  ninety  and 
nine  of  every  hundred  faces  we  meet  in  the  daily 
walks  of  life.  When  we  look  upon  a  countenance 
which  sparkles  with  health  and  absolute  joy  in 
life,  we  turn  and  look  again  and  yet  again, 
charmed  and  fascinated,  though  we  do  not  know 
why. 

It  was  such  a  face  that  Joy  Irving,  the  new  or- 
ganist of  St.  Blank's  Church, flashed  upon  the  peo- 
ple who  had  lingered  near  the  door  to  see  her  pass 
out.  Among  those  who  lingered  was  the  Baroness; 
and  all  day  she  carried  about  with  her  the  mem- 
ory of  that  sparkling  countenance;  and  strive  as 


74  AN   AMBITIOUS   MAN 

she  would,  she  could  not  drive  away  a  vague, 
strange  uneasiness  which  the  sight  of  that  face 
had  caused  her. 

Yet  a  vision  of  youth  and  beauty  always  made 
the  Baroness  unhappy,  now  that  both  blessings 
were  irrevocably  lost  to  her. 

This  particular  young  face,  however,  stirred 
her  with  those  half-painful,  half-pleasurable 
emotions  which  certain  perfumes  awake  in  us — 
vague  reminders  of  joys  lost  or  unattained,  of 
dreams  broken  or  unrealized.  Added  to  this,  it  re- 
minded her  of  some  one  she  had  known,  yet  she 
could  not  place  the  resemblance. 

"Oh  to  be  young  and  beautiful  like  that!"  she 
sighed  as  she  buried  her  face  in  her  pillow  that 
night.  "And  since  I  cannot  be,  if  only  Alice  had 
that  girl's  face." 

And  because  Alice  did  not  have  it,  the  Baroness 
went  to  sleep  with  a  feeling  of  bitter  resentment 
against  its  possessor,  the  beautiful  young  organist 
of  St.  Blank's. 


CHAPTER  IX. 

UP  in  the  loft  of  St.  Blank's  Church  the  young 
organist  had  been  practicing  the  whole  morning. 
People  paused  on  the  street  to  listen  to  the  glori- 
ous sounds,  and  were  thrilled  by  them,  as  one  is 
only  thrilled  when  the  strong  personality  of  the 
player  enters  into  the  execution. 

Down  into  the  committee  room,  where  several 
deacons  and  the  young  rector  were  seated  discuss- 
ing some  question  pertaining  to  the  well-being  of 
the  church,  the  music  penetrated  too,  causing  the 
business  which  had  brought  them  together,  to  be 
suspended  temporarily. 

"  It  is  a  sin  to  talk  while  music  like  that  can  be 
heard,"  remarked  one  man.  "You  have  found  a 
genius  in  this  new  organist,  Rector." 

The  young  man  nodded  silently,  his  eyes  half 
closed  with  an  expression  of  somewhat  sensuous 
enjoyment  of  the  throbbing  chords  which  vibrated 
in  perfect  unison  with  the  beating  of  his  strong 


"Where  does  she  come  from  ?"  asked  the  deacon, 
as  a  pause  in  the  music  occurred. 
75 


76  AN  AMBITIOUS  MAN 

"Her  father  was  an  earnest  and  prominent 
member  of  the  little  church  down-town  of  which 
I  had  charge  during  several  years,"  replied  the 
young  man.  "Miss  Irving  was  scarcely  more  than 
a  child  when  she  volunteered  her  services  as  or- 
ganist. The  position  brought  her  no  remunera- 
tion, and  at  that  time  she  did  not  need  it.  Young 
as  she  was,  the  girl  was  one  of  the  most  active 
workers  among  the  poor,  and  I  often  met  her  in 
my  visits  to  the  sick  and  unfortunate.  She  had 
been  a  musical  prodigy  from  the  cradle,  and  Mr. 
Irving  had  given  her  every  advantage  to  study 
and  perfect  her  artv 

"I  was  naturally  much  interested  in  her.  Mr. 
Irving's  long  illness  left  his  wife  and  daughter 
without  means  of  support,  at  his  death,  and  when 
I  was  called  to  take  charge  of  St.  Blanks,  I  at 
once  realized  the  benefit  to  the  family  as  well  as 
to  my  church  could  I  secure  the  young  lady  the 
position  here  as  organist.  I  am  glad  that  my  con- 
gregation seem  so  well  satisfied  with  my  choice." 

Again  the  organ  pealed  forth,  this  time  in  that 
passionate  music  originally  written  for  the  Gar- 
den Scene  in  "Faust,"  and  which  the  church  has 
boldly  taken  and  arranged  as  a  quartette  to  the 
words,  "Come  unto  me." 

It  may  be  that  to  some  who  listen,  it  is  the  Di- 
vine spirit  which  makes  its  appeal  through  those 


AN  AMBITIOUS  MAN  77 

stirring  strains;  but  to  the  rector  of  St.  Blank's,  at 
least  on  that  morning,  it  was  human  heart, calling 
unto  human  heart.  Mr.  Stuart  and  the  deacons 
sat  silently  drinking  in  the  music.  At  length  the 
rector  rose.  "I  think  perhaps  we  had  better  drop 
the  matter  under  discussion  for  to-day,"  he  said. 
"We  can  meet  here  Monday  evening  at  five  o'clock 
if  agreeable  to  you  all,  and  finish  the  details. 
There  are  other  and  more  important  affairs  waiting 
for  me  now." 

The  deacons  departed,  and  the  young  rector 
sank  back  in  his  chair,  and  gave  himself  up  to  the 
enjoyment  of  the  sounds  which  flooded  not.  only 
the  room,  but  his  brain,  heart  and  soul 

"Queer,"  he  said  to  himself  as  the  door  closed 
behind  the  human  pillars  of  his  church,  "Queer, 
but  I  felt  as  if  the  presence  of  those  men  was  an 
intrusion  upon  something  belonging  personally 
to  me.  I  wonder  why  I  am  so  peculiarly  affected 
by  this  girl's  music?  It  arouses  my  brain  to  ac- 
tion, it  awakens  ambition  and  gives  me  courage 
and  hope,  and  yet — "  he  paused  before  allowing 
his  feeling  to  shape  itself  into  thoughts.  Then 
closing  his  eyes  and  clasping  his  hands  behind  his 
head  while  the  music  surged  about  him,  he  lay 
back  in  his  easy  chair  as  a  bather  might  lie 
back  and  float  upon  the  water,  and  his  unfinished 
sentence  took  shape  thus:  "And  yet  stronger 
than  all  other  feelings  which  her  music  arouses 


78  AN    AMBITIOUS    MAN 

in  me,  is  the  desire  to  possess  the  musician  for 
my  very  own  forever;  ah,  well!  the  Roman  Catho- 
lics are  wise  in  not  allowing  their  priests  and 
their  nuns  to  listen  to  all  even  so-called  sacred 
music." 

It  was  perhaps  ten  minutes  later  that  Joy  Ir- 
ving became  conscious  that  she  was  not  alone  in 
the  organ  loft.  She  had  neither  heard  nor  seen 
his  entrance,  but  she  felt  the  presence  of  her  rec- 
tor, and  turned  to  find  him  silently  watching  her. 
She  played  her  phrase  to  the  end,  before  she 
greeted  him  with  other  than  a  smile.  Then 
she  apologized,  saying:  "Even  one's  rector 
must  wait  for  a  musical  phrase  to  reach  its 
period.  Angels  may  interrupt  the  rendition 
of  a  great  work,  but  not  man.  That  were 
sacrilege.  You  see  I  was  really  praying,  when  you 
3ntered,  though  my  heart  spoke  through  my  fin- 
gers instead  of  my  lips  " 

"You  need  not  apologize,"  the  young  man  an- 
swered. "One  who  receives  your  smile  would  be 
ungrateful  indeed  if  he  asked  for  more.  That 
alone  would  render  the  darkest  spot  radiant  with 
light  and  welcome  to  me." 

The  girl's  pink  cheek  flushed  crimson,  like  a 
rose  bathed  in  the  sunset  colors  of  the  sky. 

"I  did  not  think  you  were  a  man  to  coin  pretty 
speeches,"  she  said. 


AN  AMBITIOUS  MAN 

"Your  estimate  of  me  was  a  wise  one.  You  vead 
human  nature  correctly.  But  come  and  walk  in  the 
park  with  me.  You  will  overtax  yourself  if  you 
practice  any  longer.  The  sunlight  and  the  air  are 
vying  with  each  other  to-day  to  see  which  can  be 
the  most  intoxicating.  Come  and  enjoy  their 
sparring  match  with  me;  I  want  to  talk  to  you 
about  one  of  my  unfortunate  parishioners.  It  is 
a  peculiarly  pathetic  case.  I  think  you  can  help 
and  advise  me  in  the  matter." 

It  was  a  superb  morning  in  early  October.  New 
York  was  like  a  beautiful  woman  arrayed  in  her 
fresh  autumn  costume,  disporting  herself  before 
admiring  eyes. 

Absorbed  in  each  other's  society,  their  pulses 
beating  high  with  youth,  love  and  health,  the 
young  couple  walked  through  the  crowded  avenues 
of  the  great  city,  as  happily  and  as  naturally  as 
Adam  and  Eve  might  have  walked  in  the  Garden 
of  Eden  the  morning  after  Creation. 

Both  were  city  born  and  city  bred,  yet  both  were 
as  unfashionable  and  untrammeled  by  customs 
as  two  children  of  the  plains. 

In  the  very  heart  of  the  greatest  metropolis  in 
America,  there  are  people  who  live  and  retain  all 
the  primitive  simplicity  of  village  life  and  thought. 
Mr.  Irving  had  been  one  of  these.  Coming  to  New 
York  from  an  interior  village  when  a  young  man, 


80  AN  AMBITIOUS  MAN 

he  had,  through  simple  and  quiet  tastes  and  relig- 
ious convictions,  kept  himself  wholly  free  from 
the  social  life  of  the  city  in  which  he  lived.  After 
his  marriage  his  entire  happiness  lay  in  his  home, 
and  Joy  was  reared  by  parents  who  made  her  world. 
Mrs.  Irving  sympathized  fully  with  her  husband 
in  his  distaste  for  society,  and  her  delicate  health 
rendered  her  almost  a  recluse  from  the  world. 

A  few  pleasant  acquaintances,  no  intimates, 
music,  books,  and  a  large  share  of  her  time  given 
to  charitable  work,  composed  the  life  of  Joy  Ir- 
ving. 

She  had  never  been  in  a  fashionable  assemblage; 
she  had  never  attended  a  theater,  as  Mr.  Irving 
did  not  approve  of  them. 

Extremely  fond  of  outdoor  life,  she  walked, 
unattended,  wherever  her  mood  led  her.  As  she 
had  no  acquaintances  among  society  people,  she 
knew  nothing  and  cared  less  for  the  rules  which 
govern  the  promenading  habits  of  young  women 
in  New  York.  Her  sweet  face  and  graceful  figure 
were  well  known  among  the  poorer  quarters  of  the 
city,  and  it  was  through  her  work  in  such  places 
that  Arthur  Stuart's  attention  had  first  been  called 
to  her. 

As  for  him,  he  was  filled  with  that  high,  but 
not  always  wise  disdain  for  society  and  its  cus- 
toms, which  we  so  often  find  in  town  bred  young 


AN   AMBITIOUS   MAN  81 

men  of  intellectual  pursuits.  He  was  clean-minded, 
independent,  sure  of  his  own  purposes,  and  wholly 
indifferent  to  the  opinions  of  inferiors  regarding 
his  habits. 

He  loved  the  park,  and  he  asked  Joy  to  walk 
with  him  there,  as  freely  as  he  would  have  asked 
her  to  sit  with  him  in  a  conservatory.  It  was  a 
great  delight  to  the  young  girl  to  go. 

"It  seems  such  a  pity  that  the  women  of  New 
York  get  so  little  benefit  from  this  beautiful  park, " 
she  said  as  they  strolled  along  through  the  wind- 
ing paths  together.  "The  wealthy  people  enjoy 
it  in  a  way  from  their  carriages,  and  the  poor 
people  no  doubt  derive  new  life  from  their  Sunday 
promenades  here.  But  there  are  thousands  like 
myself  who  are  almost  wholly  debarred  from  its  ' 
pleasures.  I  have  always  wanted  to  walk  here, 
but  once  I  came  and  a  rude  man  in  a  carriage 
spoke  to  me.  Mother  told  me  never  to  come  alone 
again.  It  seems  strange  to  me  that  men  who  are 
so  proud  of  their  strength,  and  who  should  be  the 
natural  protectors  of  woman,  can  belittle  them- 
selves by  annoying  or  frightening  her  when  alone. 
I  am  sure  that  same  man  would  never  think  of 
speaking  to  me  now  that  I  am  with  you.  How 
cowardly  he  seems  when  you  think  of  it  1  Yet  I 
am  told  there  are  many  like  him,  though  that  was 
my  only  experience  of  the  kind." 


82  AN  AMBITIOUS  MAN 

"Yes,  there  are  many  like  him,"  the  rector  an- 
swered. "But  you  must  remember  how  short  a 
time  man  has  been  evolving  from  a  lower  animal 
condition  to  his  present  state,  and  how  much  high- 
er he  is  to-day  than  he  was  a  hundred  years  ago 
even,  when  occasional  drunkenness  was  considered 
an  attribute  of  a  gentleman.  Now  it  is  a  vice  of 
which  he  is  ashamed." 

"Then  you  believe  in  evolution?"  Joy  asked 
with  a  note  of  surprise  in  her  voice. 

"Yes,  I  surely  do;  nor  does  the  belief  conflict 
with  my  religious  faith.  I  believe  in  many  things 
I  could  not  preach  from  my  pulpit.  My  congre- 
gation is  not  ready  for  broad  truths.  I  am  like 
an  eclectic  physician — I  suit  my  treatment  to  my 
patient — I  administer  the  old  school  or  the  new 
school  medicaments  as  the  case  demands." 

"It  seems  to  me  there  can  be  but  one  school  in 
spiritual  matters,"  Joy  said  gravely — "the  right 
one.  And  I  think  one  should  preach  and  teach 
what  he  believes  to  be  true  and  right,  no  matter 
what  his  congregation  demands.  Oh,  forgive  me  I 
I  am  very  rude  to  speak  like  that  to  you!"  And 
she  blushed  and  paled  with  fright  at  her  boldness. 

They  were  seated  on  a  rustic  bench  now,  under 
the  shadow  of  a  great  tree. 

The  rector  smiled,  his  eyes  fixed  with  pleased 
satisfaction  on  the  girl's  beautiful  face,  with  its' 


AN  AMBITIOUS  MAN  83 

changing  color  and  expression.  He  felt  he  could 
well  afford  to  be  criticised  or  rebuked  by  her,  if 
the  result  was  so  gratifying  to  his  sight.  The 
young  rector  of  St.  Blank's  lived  very  much  more 
in  his  senses  than  in  his  ideals. 

"Perhaps  you  are  right,"  he  said.  "I  some- 
times wish  I  had  greater  courage  of  my  convic- 
tions. I  think  I  could  have,  were  you  to  stimulate 
me  with  such  words  often.  But  my  mother  is  so 
afraid  that  I  will  wander  from  the  old  dogmas, 
that  I  am  constantly  checking  myself.  However,  in 
regard  to  the  case  I  mentioned  to  you — it  is  a  del- 
icate subject,  but  you  are  not  like  ordinary  young 
women,  and  you  and  I  have  stood  beside  so  many 
sick-beds  and  death-beds  together  that  we  can 
speak  as  man  to  man,  or  woman  to  woman,  with 
no  false  modesty  to  bar  our  speech. 

"A  very  sad  case  has  come  to  my  knowledge  of 
late;  Miss  Adams,  a  woman  who  for  some  years 
has  b  en  a  devout  member  of  St.  Blank's  Church, 
has  several  times  mentioned  her  niece  to  me,  a 
young  girl  who  was  away  at  boarding  school.  A 
few  months  ago  the  young  girl  graduated  and  came 
to  live  with  this  aunt.  I  remember  her  as  a  bright, 
buoyant,  and  very  intelligent  girl.  I  have  not 
seen  her  now  during  two  months;  and  last  week 
I  asked  Miss  Adams  what  had  become  of  her  niece. 
Then  the  poor  woman  broke  into  sobs  and  told  me 


$4  AN  AMBITIOUS  MAN 

the  sad  state  of  affairs.  It  seems  that  the  girl 
Marah  is  her  daughter.  The  poor  mother  had 
believed  she  could  guard  the  truth  from  her  child, 
and  had  educated  her  as  her  niece,  and  was  now 
prepared  to  enjoy  her  companionship,  when  some 
mischief-making  gossip  dug  up  the  old  scandal 
and  imparted  the  facts  to  Marah. 

"The  girl  came  to  Miss  Adams  and  demanded 
the  truth,  and  the  mother  confessed.  Then  the 
daughter  settled  into  a  profound  melancholy,  from 
which  nothing  seemed  to  rouse'her.  She  will  not 
go  out,  remains  in  the  house,  and  broods  constant- 
ly over  her  disgrace. 

"It  occurred  to  me  that  if  Marah  Adams  could 
be  brought  out  of  herself  and  interested  in  some 
work,  or  study,  it  would  be  the  salvation  of  her 
reason.  Her  mother  told  me  she  is  an  accom- 
plished musician,  but  that  she  refuses  to  touchher 
piano  now.  I  thought  you  might  take  her  as  an 
understudy  on  the  organ,  and  by  your  influence 
and  association  lead  her  out  of  herself.  You 
could  make  her  acquaintance  through  approach- 
ing the  mother,  who  is  a  milliner,  on  business,  and 
your  tact  would  do  the  rest.  In  all  my  large  and 
wealthy  congregation  I  know  of  no  other  woman 
to  whom  I  could  appeal  for  aid  in  this  delicate 
matter,  so  I  am  sure  you  will  pardon  me.  In 
fact,  I  fear  were  the  matter  to  be  known  in  the 


*N   AMBITIOUS  MAN  85 

4 

congregation  at  all,  i^  would  lead  to  renewed  paiq 
and  added  hurts  for  both  Miss  Adams  and  her 
daughter.  You  know  women  can  be  so  cruel  to 
each  other  in  subtle  ways,  and  I  have  seen  almost 
death-blows  dealt  in  church  aisles  by  one  church 
member  to  another." 

"Oh,  that  is  a  terrible  reflection  on  Christians," 
cried  Joy,  who,  a  born  Christ-woman,  believed 
that  all  professed  church  members  must  feel  the 
same  divine  spirit  of  sympathy  and  charity  which 
burned  in  her  own  sweet  soul. 

"No,  it  is  a  simple  truth — an  unfortunate  fact," 
the  young  man  replied.  "I  preach  sermons  at 
such  members  of  my  church,  but  they  seldom  take 
them  home.  They  think  I  mean  somebody  else. 
These  are  the  people  who  follow  the  letter  and  not 
the  spirit  of  the  church.  But  one  such  member 
as  you,  recompenses  me  for  a  score  of  the  others. 
I  felt  I  must  come  to  you  with  the  Marah  Adams 
affair." 

Joy  was  still  thinking  of  the  reflection  the  rec- 
tor had  cast  upon  his  congregation.  It  hurt  her, 
and  she  protested. 

"Oh,  surely,"  she  said,  "you  can  not  mean  that 
I  am  the  only  one  of  the  professed  Christians  in 
your  church  who  would  show  mercy  and  sympathy 
to  poor  Miss  Adams.  Surely  few,  very  few  would 
forget  Christ's  words  to  Mary  Magdalene,  'Go  and 


86  AN  AMBITIOUS   MAN 

sin  no  more, '  or  fail  to  forgive  as  He  forgave. 
She  has  led  such  a  good  life  all  these  years." 

The  rector  smiled  sadly. 

"You  judge  others  by  your  own  true  heart,"  he 
said.  "But  I  know  the  world  as  it  is.  Yes,  the 
members  of  my  church  would  forgive  Miss  Adams 
for  her  sin — and  cut  her  dead.  They  would  daily 
crucify  her  and  her  innocent  child  by  their  cold 
scorn  or  utter  ignoring  of  them.  They  would  not 
allow  their  daughters  to  associate  with  this  blame- 
less girl,  because  of  her  mother's  misstep. 

"It  is  the  same  in  and  out  of  the  churches. 
Twenty  people  will  repeat  Christ's  words  to  a 
repentant  sinner,  but  nineteen  of  that  twenty  in- 
terpolate a  few  words  of  their  own,  through  tone, 
gesture,  or  manner,  until  'Go  and  sin  no  more' 
sounds  to  the  poor  unfortunate  more  like  'Go  just 
as  far  away  from  me  and  mine  as  you  can  get — 
and  sin  no  more!'  Only  one  in  that  score  puts 
Christ's  merciful  and  tender  meaning  into  the 
phrase,  and  tries  by  sympathetic  association  to 
make  it  possible  for  the  sinner  to  sin  no  more.  I 
felt  you  were  that  one,  and  so  I  appealed  to  you 
in  this  matter  about  Marah  Adams." 

Joy's  eyes  were  full  of  tears.  "You  must  know 
more  of  human  nature  than  I  do,"  she  said,  "but 
I  hate  terribly  to  think  you  are  right  in  this  esti- 
mate of  the  people  of  your  congregation.  I  will 


AN   AMBITIOUS  MAN  87 

go  and  see  what  I  can  do  for  this  girl  to-morrow. 
Poor  child,  poor  mother,  to  pass  through  a  second 
Gethsemane  for  her  sin.  I  think  any  girl  or  boy 
whose  home  life  is  shadowed,  is  to  be  pitied.  I  have 
always  had  such  a  happy  home,  ajad  suoh  dear 
parents,  the  world  would  seem  insupportable,  I 
am  sure,  were  I  to  face  it  without  that  background. 
Dear  papa's  death  was  a  great  blow,  and  mother's 
ill  health  has  been  a  sorrow,  but  we  have  always 
been  so  happy  and  harmonious,  and  that,  I  think, 
is  worth  more  than  a  fortune  to  a  child.  Poor, 
poor  Marah — unable  to  respect  her  mother,  what 
a  terrible  thing  it  all  is!" 

"Yes,  it  is  a  sad  affair.  I  cannot  help  thinking 
it  would  have  been  a  pardonable  lie  if  Miss  Adams 
had  denied  the  truth  when  the  girl  confronted 
her  with  the  story.  It  is  the  one  situation  in  life 
where  a  lie  is  excusable,  I  think.  It  would  have 
saved  this  poor  girl  no  end  of  sorrow,  and  it  could 
not  have  added  much  to  the  mother's  burden.  I 
think  lying  must  have  originated  with  an  erring 
woman." 

Joy  looked  at  her  rector  with  startled  eyes.  "A 
lie  is  never  excusable,"  she  said,  "and  I  do  not 
believe  it  ever  saves  sorrow.  But  I  see  you  do  not 
mean  what  you  say,  you  only  feel  very  sorry  for 
the  girl ;  and  you  surely  do  not  forget  that  the 
lie  originated  with  Satan,  who  told  a  falsehood  to 
Eve." 


CHAPTER  X. 

EVER  since  early  girlhood  Joy  Irving  had 
formed  a  habit  of  jotting  down  in  black  and  white 
her  own  ideas  regarding  any  book,  painting,  con- 
cert, conversation  or  sermon,  which  interested 
her,  and  epitomizing  the  train  of  thought  to 
which  they  led. 

The  evening  after  her  walk  and  talk  with  the 
rector  of  St.  Blank's,  she  took  out  her  note  book, 
which  bore  a  date  four  years  old  under  its  title 
"My  Impression,"  and  read  over  the  last  page  of 
entries.  They  had  evidently  been  written  at  the 
close  of  some  Sabbath  day,  and  ran  as  follows: 

Many  a  kneeling  woman  is  more  occupied  with 
how  her  skirts  hang  than  how  her  prayers  ascend. 
I  am  inclined  to  think  we  all  ought  to  wear  a  uni- 
form to  church  if  we  would  really  worship  there. 
God  must  grow  weary  looking  down  on  so  many 
new  bonnets. 

I  wore  a  smart  hat  to  church  to-day,  and  I  found 
myself  criticising  every  other  woman's  bonnet 
during  service,  so  that  I  failed  in  some  of  my  re- 
sponses. 

If  we  oould  all  be  compelled  by  some  mysteri- 


AN  AMBITIOUS    MAN  89 

ou&  power  to  think  aloud  on  Sunday,  what  a  veri- 
table holy  day  we  would  make  of  it  I  Though  we 
are  taught  from  childhood  that  God  hears  our 
thoughts,  the  best  of  us  would  be  afraid  to  have 
our  nearest  friends  know  them. 

I  sometimes  think  it  is  a  presumption  on  the 
part  of  any  man  to  rise  in  the  pulpit  and  under- 
take to  tell  me  about  a  Creator  with  whom  I  feel 
every  whit  as  well  acquainted  as  he.  I  suppose  such 
thoughts  are  wicked,  however,  and  should  be  sup- 
pressed. 

It  is  a  curious  fact,  that  the  most  aggressively 
sensitive  persons  are  at  heart  the  most  conceited. 

I  wish  people  smiled  more  in  church  aisles.  In 
fact,  I  think  we  all  laugh  at  one  another -too  much 
and  smile  at  one  another  too  seldom. 

After  the  devil  had  made  all  the  trouble  for 
woman  he  could  with  the  fig  leaf,  he  introduced 
the  French  heel. 

It  is  well  to  see  the  ridiculous  side  of  things, 
but  not  of  people. 

Most  of  us  would  rather  be  popular  than  right. 

To  these  impressions  Joy  added  the  following: 

It  is  not  the  interior  of  one's  house,  but  the  in- 
terior of  one's  mind  which  makes  home. 

It  seems  to  me  that  to  be,  is  to  love.  I  can 
conceive  of  no  state  of  existence  which  is  not  per- 
meated with  this  feeling  toward  something,  some- 
body or  the  illimitable  "nothing"  which  is  mother 
to  everything. 


90  AN    AMBITIOUS    MAN 

I  wish  we  had  more  religion  in  the  world  and 
fewer  churches. 

People  who  believe  in  no  God,  invariably  exalt 
themselves  into  His  position,  and  worship  with 
the  very  idolatry  they  decry  in  others. 

Music  is  the  echo  of  the  rhythm  of  God's  respira- 
tions. 

Poetry  is  the  effort  of  the  divine  part  of  man  to 
formulate  a  worthy  language  in  which  to  converse 
with  angels. 

Painting  and  sculpture  seem  to  me  the  most 
presumptuous  of  the  arts.  They  are  an  effort  of 
man  to  outdo  God  in  creation.  He  never  made 
a  perfect  form  or  face — the  artist  alone  makes 
them. 

I  am  sure  I  do  not  play  the  organ  as  well  at  St. 
Blank's  as  I  played  it  in  the  little  church  where  I 
gave  my  services  and  was  unknown.  People  are 
praising  me  too  much  here,  and  this  mars  all  spon- 
taneity. 

The  very  first  hour  of  positive  success  is  often 
the  last  hour  of  great  achievement.  So  soon  as 
we  are  conscious  of  the  admiring  and  expectant 
gaze  of  men,  we  cease  to  commune  with  God.  It 
is  when  we  are  unknown  to  or  neglected  by  mor- 
tals, that  we  reach  up  to  the  Infinite  and  are  in- 
spired. 

I  have  seen  Marah  Adams  to-day,  and  I  felt 
strangely  drawn  to  her.  Her  face  would  express 
all  goodness  if  it  were  not  so  unhappy.  Unhap- 
piness  is  a  species  of  evil,  since  it  is  a  discourtesy 
to  God  to  be  unhappy. 


AN  AMBITIOUS  MAN  91 

I  am  going  to  do  all  I  can  for  the  girl  to  bring 
her  into  a  better  frame  of  mind.  No  blame  can 
be  attached  to  her,  and  yet  now  that  I  am  face  to 
face  with  the  situation,  and  realize  how  the  world 
regards  such  a  person,  I  myself  find  it  a  little  hard 
to  think  of  braving  public  opinion  and  identifying 
myself  with  her.  But  I  am  going  to  overcome 
such  feelings,  as  they  are  cowardly  and  unworthy 
of  me,  and  purely  the  result  of  education.  I  am 
amazed,  too,  to  discover  this  weakness  in  myself. 

How  sympathetic  dear  mamma  is!  I  told  her 
about  Marah,  and  she  wept  bitterly,  and  has  car- 
ried her  eyes  full  of  tears  ever  since.  I  must  be 
careful  and  tell  her  nothing  sad  while  she  is  in 
such  a  weak  state  physically. 

I  told  mamma  what  the  rector  said  about  lying. 
She  coincided  with  him  that  Mrs.  Adams  would 
have  been  justified  in  denying  the  truth  if  she  had 
realized  how  her  daughter  was  to  be  affected  by  this 
knowledge.  A  woman's  past  belongs  only  to  her- 
self and  her  God,  she  says,  unless  she  wishes  to 
make  a  confidant.  But  I  cannot  agree  with  her  or 
the  rector.  I  would  want  the  truth  from  my  par- 
ents, however  much  it  hurt.  Many  sins  which 
men  regard  as  serious  only  obstruct  the  bridge 
between  our  souls  and  truth.  A  lie  burns  the 
bridge. 

I  hope  I  am  not  uncharitable,  yet  I  cannot  con- 
ceive of  committing  an  act  through  love  of  any 
man,  which  would  lower  me^  in  his  esteem,  once 
committed.  Yet  of  course  I  have  had  little  ex- 
perience in  life,  with  men,  or  with  temptation. 
But  it  seems  to  me  I  could  not  continue  to  love  a 
man  who  did  not  seek  to  lead  me  higher.  The 
moment  he  stood  before  me  and  asked  me  to  de- 


92  AN   AMBITIOUS    MAN 

scend,  I  should  realize  he  was  to  be  pitied — not 
adored. 

I  told  mother  this,  and  she  said  I  was  too  young 
and  inexperienced  to  form  decided  opinions  on 
such  subjects,  and  she  warned  me  that  I  must  not 
become  uncharitable.  She  wept  bitterly  as  she 
thought  of  my  becoming  narrow  or  bigoted  in  my 
ideas,  dear,  tender-hearted  mamma. 

Death  should  be  called  the  Great  Revealer  in- 
stead of  the  Great  Destroyer. 

Some  people  think  the  way  into  heaven  is 
through  embroidered  altar  cloths. 

The  soul  that  has  any  conception  of  its  own 
possibilities  does  not  fear  solitude. 

A  girl  told  me  to-day  that  a  rude  man  annoyed 
her  by  staring  at  her  in  a  public  conveyance.  It 
never  occurred  to  her  that  it  takes  four  eyes  to 
make  a  stare  annoying. 

Astronomers  know  more  about  the  character  of 
the  stars  than  the  average  American  mother  about 
the  temperament  of  her  daughters. 

To  some  women  the  most  terrible  thought  con- 
nected with  death  is  the  dates  in  the  obituary 
notice. 

As  a  rule,  when  a  woman  opens  the  door  of  an 
artistic  career  with  one  hand,  she  shuts  the  door 
on  domestic  happiness  with  the  other. 


CHAPTER    XL 

THE  rector  of  St.  Blank's  Church  dined  at  the 
Cheney  table  or  drove  in  the  Cheney  establish- 
ment every  week,  beside  which  there  were  always 
one  or  two  confidential  chats  with  the  feminine 
Cheneys  in  the  parsonage  on  matters  pertaining 
to  the  welfare  of  the  church,  and  occasionally  to 
the  welfare  of  humanity. 

That  Alice  Cheney  had  conceived  a  sudden  and 
consuming  passion  for  the  handsome  and  brilliant 
rector  of  St.  Blank's,  both  her  mother  and  the 
Baroness  knew,  and  both  were  doing  all  in  their 
power  to  further  the  girl's  hopes. 

While  Alice  resembled  her  mother  in  appear- 
ance and  disposition,  propensities  and  impulses 
occasionally  exhibited  themselves  which  spoke  of 
paternal  inheritance.  She  had  her  father's  strongly 
emotional  nature, with  her  mother's  stubbornness; 
and  Preston  Cheney  's  romantic  tendencies  were 
repeated  in  his  daughter,  without  his  reasoning 
powers.  Added  to  her  father's  lack  of  self- 
control  in  any  strife  with  his  passions,  Alice 
possessed  her  mother's  hysterical  nerves.  In  fact, 


94  AN   AMBITIOUS    MAN 

the  unfortunate  child  inherited  the  weaknesses 
and  faults  of  both  parents,  without  any  of  their 
redeeming  virtues. 

The  passion  which  had  sprung  to  life  in  her 
breast  for  the  young  rector,  was  as  strong  and  un- 
reasoning as  the  infatuation  which  her  father  had 
once  experienced  for  Berene  Dumont;  but  in- 
stead of  struggling  against  the  feeling  as  her 
father  had  at  least  attempted  to  do,  she  dwelt 
upon  it  with  all  the  mulish  persistency  which  her 
mother  exhibited  in  small  matters,  and  luxuriated 
in  romantic  dreams  of  the  future. 

Mabel  was  wholly  unable  to  comprehend  the 
depth  or  violence  of  her  daughter's  feelings,  but 
she  realized  the  fact  that  Alice  had  set  her  mind 
on  winning  Arthur  Stuart  for  a  husband,  and  she 
quite  approved  of  the  idea,  and  saw  no  reason  why 
it  should  not  succeed.  She  herself  had  won  Pres- 
ton Cheney  away  from  all  rivals  for  his  favor,  and 
Alice  ought  to  be  able  to  do  the  same  with  Arthur, 
after  all  the  money  which  had  been  expended  upon 
her  wardrobe.  Senator  Cheney's  daughter  and 
Judge  Lawrence's  granddaughter,  surely  was  a 
prize  for  any  man  to  win  as  a  wife. 

The  Baroness,  however,  reviewed  the  situation 
with  more  concern  of  mind.  She  realized  that 
Alice  was  destitute  of  beauty  and  charm,  and  that 
Arthur  Emerson  Stuart  (it  would  have  been  con- 


AN  AMBITIOUS   MAN  95 

sidered  a  case  of  high  treason  to  speak  of  the  rec- 
tor of  St.  Blank's  without  using  his  three  names) 
was  independent  in  the  matter  of  fortune,  and 
so  dowered  with  nature's  best  gifts  that  he  could 
have  almost  any  woman  for  the  asking  whom  he 
should  desire.  But  the  Baroness  believed  much 
in  propinquity;  and  she  brought  the  rector  and 
Alice  together  as  often  as  possible,  and  coached 
the  girl  in  coquettish  arts  when  alone  with  her, 
and  credited  her  with  witticisms  and  bonmots 
which  she  had  never  uttered,  when  talking  of  her 
to  the  young  rector. 

"If  only  I  could  give  Alice  the  benefit  of  my 
past  career, "  the  Baroness  would  say  to  herself 
at  times.  "I  know  so  well  how  to  manage  men; 
but  what  use  is  my  knowledge  to  me  now  that  I 
am  old?  Alice  is  young,  and  even  without  beauty 
she  could  do  so  much,  if  she  only  understood  the 
art  of  masculine  seduction.  But  then  it  is  a  gift, 
not  an  acquired  art,  and  Alice  was  not  born 
with  the  gift." 

While  Mabel  and  Alice  had  been  centering  their 
thoughts  and  attentions  on  the  rector,  the  Baro- 
ness had  not  forgotten  the  rector's  mother.  She 
knew  the  very  strong  affection  which  existed  be- 
tween the  two,  and  she  had  discovered  that  the 
leading  desire  of  the  young  man's  heart  was  to 
make  his  mother  happy.  With  her  wide  knowl- 


96  AN  AMBITIOUS   MAN 

edge  of  human  nature,  she  had  not  been  long  in 
discerning  the  fact  that  it  was  not  because  of  his 
own  religious  convictions  that  the  rector  had 
chosen  his  calling,  but  to  carry  out  the  life-long 
wishes  of  his  beloved  mother. 

Therefore  she  reasoned  wisely  that  Arthur  would 
be  greatly  influenced  by  his  mother  in  his  choice 
of  a  wife ;  and  the  Baroness  brought  all  her  vast 
battery  of  fascination  to  bear  on  Mrs.  Stuart,  and 
succeeded  in  making  that  lady  her  devoted  friend. 

The  widow  of  Judge  Lawrence  was  still  an  im- 
posing and  impressive  figure  wherever  she  went. 
Though  no  longer  a  woman  who  appealed  to  the 
desires  of  men,  she  exhaled  that  peculiar  mental 
aroma  which  hangs  ever  about  a  woman  who  has 
dealt  deeply  and  widely  in  affairs  of  the  heart. 
It  is  to  the  spiritual  senses  what  musk  is  to  the 
physical;  and  while  it  may  often  repulse,  it 
sometimes  attracts,  and  never  fails  to  be  noticed. 
About  the  Baroness'  mouth  were  hard  lines,  and 
the  expression  of  her  eyes  was  not  kind  or  tender; 
yet  she  was  everywhere  conceded  to  be  a  univer- 
sally handsome  and  attractive  woman.  Quiet  and 
tasteful  in  her  dressing,  she  did  not  accentuate 
the  ravages  of  time  by  any  mistaken  frivolities  of 
toilet,  as  so  many  faded  coquettes  have  done,  but 
wisely  suited  her  vestments  to  her  appearance,  as 
the  withering  branch  clothes  itself  in  russet 


AN  AMBITIOUS  MAN  97 

leaves,  when  the  fresh  sap  ceases  to  course  through 
its  veins.  New  York  City  is  a  vast  sepulcher  of 
"past  careers, "and  the  adventurous  life  of  the 
Baroness  was  quietly  buried  there  with  that  of 
many  another  woman.  In  the  mad  whirl  of  life, 
there  is  small  danger  that  any  of  these  skeletons 
will  rise  to  view,  unless  the  woman  permits  her- 
self to  strive  for  eminence  either  socially  or  in  the 
world  of  art. 

While  the  Cheneys  were  known  to  be  wealthy, 
and  the  Senator  had  achieved  political  position, 
there  was  nothing  in  their  situation  to  challenge 
the  jealousy  of  their  associates.  They  moved  in 
one  of  the  many  circles  of  cultured  and  agreeable 
people,  which,  despite  the  mandate  of  a  McAllister, 
form  a  varied  and  delightful  society  in  the  metrop- 
olis ;  they  entertained  in  an  unostentatious  manner, 
and  there  was  nothing  in  their  personality  to  incite 
envy  or  jealousy.  Therefore  the  career  of  the  Bar- 
oness had  not  been  unearthed. 

That  the  widow  of  Judge  Lawrence,  the  step- 
mother of  Mrs.  Cheney,  was  known  as  "The  Bar- 
oness" caused  some  questions,  to  be  sure,  but  the 
simple  answer  that  she  had  been  the  widow  of  a 
French  baron  in  early  life  served  to  allay  curios- 
ity, while  it  rendered  the  lady  herself  an  object  of 
greater  interest  to  the  majority  of  people. 

Mrs.  Stuart,   the  rector's  mother,  was  one  of 


98  AN  AMBITIOUS  MAN 

those  who  were  most  impressed  by  this  incident 
in  the  life  of  Mrs.  Lawrence.  "Family  pride" 
was  her  greatest  weakness,  and  she  dearly  loved  a 
title.  She  thought  Mrs.  Lawrence  a  typical  "Bar- 
oness," and  though  she  knew  the  title  had  only 
been  obtained  through  marriage,  it  still  rendered 
its  possessor  peculiarly  interesting  in  her  eyes. 

In  her  prime,  the  Baroness  had  been  equally 
successful  in  cajoling  women  and  men.  Though 
her  day  for  ruling  men  was  now  over,  she  still 
possessed  the  power  to  fascinate  women  when  she 
chose  to  exert  herself.  She  did  exert  herself  with 
Mrs.  Stuart,  and  succeeded  admirably  in  her  de- 
sign. 

And  one  day  Mrs.  Stuart  confided  her  secret  anx- 
iety to  the  ear  of  the  Baroness;  and  that  secret 
caused  the  cheek  of  the  listener  to  grow  pale,  and 
the  look  of  an  animal  at  bay  to  come  into  her 
eyes. 

"There  is  just  one  thing  that  gives  me  a  con- 
stant pain  at  my  heart,"  Mrs.  Stuart  had  said. 
"You  have  never  been  a  mother,  yet  I  think  your 
sympathetic  nature  causes  you  to  understand  much 
which  you  have  not  experienced,  and  knowing  as 
you  do  the  great  pride  I  feel  in  my  son's  career, 
and  the  ambition  I  have  for  him  to  rise  to  the 
very  highest  pinnacle  of  success  and  usefulness,  I 
am  sure  you  will  comprehend  my  anxiety  when  I 


Ajf   AMBITIOUS    MAN  99 

gee  him  exhibiting  an  undue  interest  in  a  girl  who 
is  in  every  way  his  inferior,  and  wholly  unsuited 
to  fill  the  position  his  wife  should  occupy." 

The  Baroness  listened  with  a  cold,  sinking  sen- 
sation at  her  heart. 

"I  am  sure  jrour  son  would  never  make  a  choice 
which  was  not  agreeable  to  you,"  she  ventured. 

"He  might  not  marry  any  one  I  objected  to," 
Mrs.  Stuart  replied,  "but  I  dread  to  think  his 
heart  may  be  already  gone  from  his  keeping.  Young 
men  are  so  susceptible  to  a  pretty  face  and  figure, 
and  I  confess  that  Joy  Irving  has  both.  She  is  a 
good  girl,  too,  and  a  fine  musician;  but  she  has  no 
family,  and  her  alliance  with  my  son  would  be  a 
great  drawback  to  his  career.  Her  father  was  a 
grocer,  I  believe,  or  something  of  that  sort;  quite 
a  common  man,  who  married  a  third-class  actress, 
Joy's  mother.  Mr.  Irving  was  in  very  comfortable 
circumstances  at  one  time,  but  a  stroke  of  par- 
alysis rendered  him  helpless  some  four  years  ago. 
He  died  last  year  and  left  his  widow  and  child  in 
straitened  circumstances.  Mrs.  Irving  is  an 
invalid  now,  and  Joy  supports  her  with  her  music. 
Mr.  Irving  and  Joy  were  members  of  Arthur 
Emerson's  former  church  (Mrs.  Stuart  always 
spoke  of  her  son  in  that  manner),  and  that  is  how 
my  son  became  interested  in  the  daughter.  An 
interest  I  supposed  to  be  purely  that  of  a  rector 


100  AN  AMBITIOUS  MAW 

in  his  parishioner  until  of  late,  when  I  began  to 
fear  it  took  root  in  deeper  soil.  But  I  am  sure, 
dear  Baroness,  you  oan  understand  my  anxiety." 

And  then  the  Baroness,  with  drawn  lips  and  an- 
guished eyes,  took  both  of  Mrs.  Stuart's  hands  in 
hers,  and  cried  out: 

"Your  pain,  dear  madam,  is  second  to  mine. 
I  have  no  child,  to  be  sure,  but  as  few  mothers 
love,  I  love  Alice  Cheney,  my  dear  husband's 
granddaughter.  My  very  life  is  bound  up  in  her, 
and  she — God  help  us,  she  loves  your  son  with  her 
whole  soul.  If  he  marries  another  it  will  kill  her 
or  drive  her  insane." 

The  two  women  fell  weeping  into  each  other's 
arms. 


CHAPTER    XII. 

PRESTON  CHENEY  conceived  such  a  strong,  ear- 
nest liking  for  the  young  clergyman  whom  he  met 
under  his  own  roof  during  one  of  his  visits  home, 
that  he  fell  into  the  habit  of  attending  church  for 
the  first  time  in  his  life. 

Mabel  and  Alice  were  deeply  gratified  with  this 
intimacy  between  the  two  men,  which  brought  the 
rector  to  the  house  far  oftener  than  they  could 
have  tastefully  done  without  the  cooperation  of 
the  husband  and  father.  Besides,  it  looked  well  to 
have  the  head  of  the  household  represented  in  the 
church.  To  the  Baroness,  also,  there  was  added 
satisfaction  in  attending  divine  service,  now  that 
Preston  Cheney  sat  in  the  pew.  All  hope  of  win- 
ning the  love  she  had  so  longed  to  possess,  died 
many  years  before;  and  she  had  been  cruel  and 
unkind  in  numerous  ways  to  the  object  of  her 
hopeless  passion,  yet  like  the  smell  of  dead  rose- 
leaves  long  shut  in  a  drawer,  there  clung  about 
this  man  the  faint,  suggestive  fragrance  of  a  per- 
ished dream. 

She  knew  that  he  did  not  love  his  wife,  and  that 
101 


102  AN    AMBITIOUS   MAN 

he  was  disappointed  in  his  daughter;  and  she  did 
not  at  least  have  to  suffer  the  pain  of  seeing  him 
lavish  the  affection  she  had  missed,  on  others. 

Mr.  Cheney  had  been  called  away  from  home  on 
business  the  day  before  the  new  organist  took  her 
place  in  St.  Blank's  Church.  Nearly  a  month  had 
passed  when  he  again  occupied  his  pew. 

Before  the  organist  had  finished  her  introduc- 
tion, he  turned  to  Alice,  saying: 

"There  has  been  a  change  here  in  the  choir, 
since  I  went  away,  and  for  the  better.  That  is  a 
very  unusual  musician.  Do  you  know  who  it  is?" 

"Some  lady,  I  believe;  I  do  not  remember  her 
name, "Alice  answered  indifferently.  Like  her 
mother,  Alice  never  enjoyed  hearing  any  one 
praised.  It  mattered  little  who  it  was,  or  how 
entirely  out  of  her  own  line  the  achievements  or 
accomplishments  on  which  the  praise  was  be- 
stowed, she  still  felt  that  petty  resentment  of 
small  natures  who  believe  that  praise  to  others 
detracts  from  their  own  value. 

A  fortune  had  been  expended  on  Alice's  musical 
education,  yet  she  could  do  no  more  than  rattle 
through  some  mediocre  composition,  with  neither 
taste  nor  skill. 

The  money  which  has  been  wasted  in  trying  to 
teach  music  to  unmusical  people  would  pay  our 
national  debt  twice  over,  and  leave  a  competency 
for  every  orphan  in  the  land. 


AN  AMBITIOUS   MAN  108 

When  the  organist  had  finished  her  second  se- 
lection, Mr.  Cheney  addressed  the  same  question 
to  his  wife  which  he  had  addressed  to  Alice. 
"Who  is  the  new  organist?"  he  queried.  Mabel 
only  shook  her  head  and  placed  her  finger  on  her 
lip  as  a  signal  for  silence  during  service. 

The  third  time  it  was  the  Baroness,  sitting 
just  beyond  Mabel,  to  whom  Mr.  Cheney  spoke. 
"That's  a  very  remarkable  musician,  very  remark- 
able," he  said.  '"Do  you  know  anything  about 
her?" 

"Yes,  wait  until  we  get  home,  and  I  will  tell 
you  all  about  her,"  the  Baroness  replied. 

When  the  service  was  over,  Mr.  Cheney  did  not 
pass  out  at  once,  as  was  his  custom.  Instead  he 
walked  toward  the  pulpit,  after  requesting  his 
family  to  wait  a  moment. 

The  rector  saw  him  and  came  down  in  the  aisle 
to  speak  to  him. 

"I  want  to  congratulate  you  on  the  new  organ- 
ist," Mr.  Cheney  said,  "and  I  want  to  meet  her. 
Alice  tells  me  it  is  a  lady.  She  must  have  de- 
voted a  lifetime  to  hard  study  to  become  such 
a  marvelous  mistress  of  that  difficult  instrument." 

Arthur  Stuart  smiled.  "Wait  a  moment,"  he 
said,  "and  I  will  send  for  her.  I  would  like  you 
to  meet  her,  and  like  her  to  meet  your  wife  and 
family.  She  has  few,  if  any,  acquaintances  in 
my  congregation." 


104  AN  AMBITIOUS   MAN 

Mr.  Cheney  went  down  the  aisle,  and  joined  the 
three  ladies  who  were  waiting  for  him  in  the  pew. 
All  were  smiling,  for  all  three  believed  that  he 
had  been  asking  the  rector  to  accompany  them 
home  to  dinner  His  first  word  dispelled  the  illu- 
sion. 

"Wait  here  a  moment,"  he  said.  "Mr.  Stuart 
is  going  to  bring  the  organist  to  meet  us.  I  want 
to  know  the  woman  who  can  move  me  so  deeply 
by  her  music." 

Over  the  faces  of  his  three  listeners  there  fell  a 
cloud.  Mabel  looked  annoyed,  Alice  sulky,  and  a 
flush  of  the  old  jealous  fury  darkened  the  brow  of 
the  Baroness.  But  all  were  smiling  deceitfully 
when  Joy  Irving  approached. 

Her  radiant  young  beauty,  and  the  expressions 
of  admiration  with  which  Preston  Cheney  greeted 
her  as  a  woman  and  an  artist,  filled  life  with  gall 
and  wormwood  for  the  three  feminine  listeners. 

"What!  this  beautiful  young  miss,  scarcely  out 
of  short  frocks,  is  not  the  musician  who  gave  us 
that  wonderful  harmony  of  sounds  I  My  child, 
how  did  you  learn  to  play  like  that  in  the  brief 
life  you  have  passed  on  earth?  Surely  you  must 
have  been  taught  by  the  angels  before  you  came. " 

A  deep  blush  of  pleasure  at  the  words  which, 
though  so  extravagant,  Joy  felt  to  be  sincere, 
increased  her  beauty  as  she  looked  up  into  Pres- 
ton Cheney's  admiring  eyes. 


AN  AMBITIOUS   MAN  105 

And  as  he  held  her  hands  in  both  of  his  and 
gazed  down  upon  her  it  seemed  to  the  Baroness 
she  could  strike  them  dead  at  her  feet  and  rejoice 
in  the  act. 

Beside  this  radiant  vision  of  loveliness  and 
genius,  Alice  looked  plainer  and  more  meager  than 
ever  before.  She  was  like  a  wayside  weed  beside 
an  American  Beauty  rose. 

"I  hope  you  and  Alice  will  become  good  friends, " 
Mr.  Cheney  said  warmly.  "We  should  like  to  see 
you  at  the  house  any  time  you  can  make  it  conven- 
ient to  come,  would  we  not,  Mabel?" 

Mrs.  Cheney  gave  a  formal  assent  to  her  hus- 
band's words  as  they  turned  away,  leaving  Joy 
with  the  rector.  And  a  scene  in  one  of  life's 
strangest  dramas  had  been  enacted,  unknown  to 
them  all. 

"I  would  like  you  to  be  very  friendly  with  that 
girl,  Alice,"  Mr.  Cheney  repeated  as  they  seated 
themselves  in  the  carriage.  "She  has  a  rare  face, 
a  rare  face,  and  she  is  highly  gifted.  She  reminds 
me  of  some  one  I  have  known,  yet  I  can't  think 
who  it  is?  What  do  you  know  about  her,  Baron- 
ess?" 

The  Baroness  gave  an  expressive  shrug.  "Since 
you  admire  her  so  much,"  she  said,  "I  rather 
hesitate  telling  you.  But  the  girl  is  of  common 
origin — a  grocer's  daughter,  and  her  mother  quite 


106  AN  AMBITIOUS  MAN 

an  inferior  person.  I  hardly  think  it  a  suitable 
companionship  for  Alice." 

"I  am  sure  I  don't  care  to  know  her,"  chimed 
in  Alice.  "I  thought  her  quite  bold  and  forward 
in  her  manner." 

"Decidedly  so!  She  seemed  to  hang  on  to  your 
father's  hand  as  if  she  would  never  let  go, "  added 
Mabel,  in  her  most  acid  tone.  "I  must  say,  I 
should  have  been  horrified  to  see  you  act  in  such 
a  familiar  manner  toward  any  stranger. "  A  quick 
color  shot  into  Preston  Cheney's  cheek  and  a 
spark  into  his  eye. 

"The  girl  was  perfectly  modest  in  her  deport- 
ment to  me,"  he  said.  "She  is  a  lady  through 
and  through,  however  humble  her  birth  may  be. 
But  I  ought  to  have  known  better  than  to  ask  my 
wife  and  daughter  to  like  any  one  whom  I  chanced 
to  admire.  I  learned  long  ago  how  futile  such  an 
idea  was." 

"Oh,  well,  I  don't  see  why  you  need  get  BO  an- 
gry over  a  perfect  stranger  whom  you  never  laid 
eyes  on  until  to-day,"  pouted  Alice.  "I  am  sure 
she's  nothing  to  any  of  us  that  we  need  quarrel 
over  her." 

"A  man  never  gets  so  old  that  he  is  not  likely 
to  make  a  fool  of  himself  over  a  pretty  face," 
supplemented  Mabel,  "and  there  is  no  fool  like  an 
old  fool." 


AN   AMBITIOUS  MAN  107 

The  uncomfortable  drive  home  came  to  an  end 
at  this  juncture,  and  Preston  Cheney  retired  to 
his  own  room,  with  the  disagreeable  words  of  his 
wife  and  daughter  ringing  in  his  ears,  and  the 
beautiful  face  of  the  young  organist  floating  be- 
fore his  eyes. 

"I  wish  she  were  my  daughter,"  he  said  to  him- 
self; "what  a  comfort  and  delight  a  girl  like  that 
would  be  to  me!" 

And  while  these  thoughts  filled  the  man's  heart, 
the  Baroness  paced  her  room  with  all  the  jealous 
passions  of  her  still  ungoverned  nature  roused 
into  new  life  and  violence  at  the  remembrance  of 
Joy  Irving's  fresh  young  beauty  and  Preston 
Cheney's  admiring  looks  and  words. 

"I  could  throttle  her, "she  cried,"!  could  throttle 
her.  Oh,  why  is  she  sent  across  my  life  at  every 
turn?  Why  should  the  only  two  men  in  the  world 
who  interest  me  to-day,  be  so  infatuated  over 
that  girl?  But  if  I  cannot  remove  so  humble  an 
obstacle  as  she  from  my  pathway,  I  shall  feel  that 
my  day  of  power  is  indeed  over,  and  that  I  do  not 
believe  to  be  true." 


CHAPTER  XIII. 

Two  weeks  later  the  organ  loft  of  St.  Blank's 
Church  was  occupied  by  a  stranger.  For  a  few 
hours  the  Baroness  felt  a  wild  hope  in  her  heart 
that  Miss  Irving  had  been  sent  away. 

But  inquiry  elicited  the  information  that  the 
young  musician  had  merely  employed  a  substitute 
because  her  mother  was  lying  seriously  ill  at 
home. 

It  was  then  that  the  Baroness  put  into  execution 
a  desire  she  had  to  make  the  personal  acquaintance 
of  Joy  Irving. 

The  desire  had  sprung  into  life  with  the  knowl- 
edge of  the  rector's  interest  in  the  girl.  No  one 
knew  better  than  the  Baroness  how  to  sow  the 
seeds  of  doubt,  distrust  and  discord  between  two 
people  whom  she  wished  to  alienate.  Many  a 
sweetheart,  many  a  wife,  had  she  separated  from 
lover  and  husband,  scarcely  leaving  a  sign  by 
which  the  trouble  could  be  traced  to  her,  so 
adroit  and  subtle  were  her  methods. 

She  felt  that  she  could  insert  an  invisible  wedge 
between  these  two  hearts,  which  would  eventually 
108 


AN    AMBITIOUS    MAN  109 

separate  them,  if  only  she  might  make  the  ac- 
quaintance of  Miss  Irving.  And  now  chance  had 
opened  the  way  for  her. 

She  made  her  resolve  known  to  the  rector. 

UI  am  deeply  interested  in  the  young  organist 
whom  I  had  the  pleasure  of  meeting  some  weeks 
ago,"  she  said,  and  she  noted  with  a  sinking  heart 
the  light  which  flashed  into  the  man's  face  at  the 
mere  mention  of  the  girl.  "I  understand  her 
mother  is  seriously  ill,  and  I  think  I  will  go 
around  and  call.  Perhaps  I  can  be  of  use.  *  I 
understand  Mrs.  Irving  is  not  a  church  woman, 
and  she  may  be  in  real  need,  as  the  family  is  in 
straitened  circumstances.  May  I  mention  your 
name  when  I  call,  in  order  that  Miss  Irving  may 
not  think  I  intrude?" 

"Why,  certainly,"  the  rector  replied  with 
warmth.  "Indeed,  I  will  give  you  a  card  of  intro- 
duction. That  will  open  the  way  for  you,  and  at 
the  same  time  I  know  you  will  use  your  delicate 
tact  to  avoid  wounding  Miss  Irving's  pride  in  any 
way.  She  is  very  sensitive  about  their  strait- 
ened circumstances ;  you  may  have  heard  that  they 
were  quite  well-to-do  until  the  stroke  of  paralysis 
rendered  her  father  helpless.  All  their  means  were 
exhausted  in  efforts  to  restore  his  health,  and  in 
the  employment  of  nurses  and  physicians*  I  think 
they  have  found  life  a  difficult  problem  since  his 


110  AN  AMBITIOUS   MAN 

death,  as  Mrs.  Irving  has  been  under  medical  care 
constantly,  and  the  whole  burden  falls  on  Miss 
Joy's  young  shoulders,  and  she  is  but  twenty-one. " 

"Just  the  age  of  Alice,"  mused  the  Baroness. 
"How  differently  people's  lives  are  ordered  in 
this  world!  But  then  we  must  have  the  hewers  of 
wood  and  the  drawers  of  water,  and  we  must  have 
the  delicate  human  flowers.  Our  Alice  is  one  of  the 
latter,  a  frail  blossom  to  look  upon,  but  she  is  one 
of  the  kind  which  will  bloom  out  in  great  splendor 
under  the  sunshine  of  love  and  happiness.  Very  few 
people  realize  what  wonderful  reserve  force  that 
delicate  child  possesses.  And  such  a  tender  heart  1 
she  was  determined  to  come  with  me  when  she 
heard  of  Miss  Irving's  trouble,  but  I  thought  it 
unwise  to  take  her  until  I  had  seen  the  place.  She 
is  so  sensitive  to  her  surroundings  and  it  might 
be  too  painful  for  her.  I  am  forever  holding  her 
back  from  overtaxing  herself  for  others.  No  one 
dreams  of  the  amount  of  good  that  girl  does  in  a 
secret,  quiet  way ;  and  at  the  same  time  she  assumes 
an  indifferent  air  and  talks  as  if  she  were  quite 
heartless,  just  to  hinder  people  from  suspecting 
her  charitable  work.  She  is  such  a  strange,  com- 
plicated character." 

Armed  with  her  card  of  introduction,  the  Baron- 
ess set  forth  on  her  "errand  of  mercy."  She  had 
not  mentioned  Miss  Irving's  name  to  Mabel  or 


AN   AMBITIOUS   MAN  111 

Alice.  The  secret  of  the  rector's  interest  in  the 
girl  was  locked  in  her  own  breast.  She  knew  that 
Mabel  was  wholly  incapable  of  coping  with  such 
a  situation  and  she  dreaded  the  effect  of  the  news 
on  Alice,  who  was  absorbed  in  her  love  dream. 
The  girl  had  never  been  denied  a  wish  in  her  life, 
and  no  thought  came  to  her  that  she  could  be 
thwarted  in  this,  her  most  cherished  hope  of  all. 

The  Baroness  was  determined  to  use  every  gun 
in  her  battery  of  defense  before  she  allowed  Ma- 
bel or  Alice  to  know  that  defense  was  needed. 

The  rector's  card  admitted  her  to  the  parlor  of 
a  small  flat.  The  portieres  of  an  adjoining  room 
were  thrown  open  presently,  and  a  vision  of  ra- 
diant beauty  entered  the  room. 

The  Baroness  could  not  explain  it,  but  as  the 
girl  emerged  from  the  curtains,  a  strange,  con  fused 
memory  of  something  and  somebody  she  had 
known  in  the  past  came  over  her.  But  when  the 
girl  spoke,  a  more  inexplicable  sensation  took 
possession  of  the  listener,  for  her  voice  was  the 
feminine  of  Preston  Cheney's  masculine  tones, 
and  then  as  she  looked  at  the  girl  again  the  haunt- 
ing memories  of  the  first  glance  were  explained, 
for  she  was  very  like  Preston  Cheney  as  the  Bar- 
oness remembered  him  when  he  came  to  the 
"Palace"  to  engage  rooms  more  than  a  score  of 
years  ago.  "What  a  strange  thing  these  resem- 


112  AN   AMBITIOUS  MAN 

blanoes  are  I"  she  thought.  "This  girl  is  more  like 
Senator  Cheney,  far  more  like  him  than  Alice  is. 
Ah,  if  Alice  only  had  her  face  and  form!" 

Miss  Irving  gave  a  slight  start,  and  took  a  step 
back  as  her  eyes  fell  upon  the  Baroness.  The 
rector's  card  had  read, "Introducing  Mrs.  Sylves- 
ter Lawrence."  She  had  known  this  lady  by  sight 
ever  since  her  first  Sunday  as  organist  at  St. 
Blank's,  and  for  some  unaccountable  reason  she 
had  conceived  a  most  intense  dislike  for  her.  Joy 
was  drawn  toward  humanity  in  general,  as  natur- 
ally as  the  sunlight  falls  on  the  earth's  foliage. 
Her  heart  radiated  love  and  sympathy  toward  the 
whole  world.  But  when  she  did  feel  a  sentiment 
of  distrust  or  repulsion  she  had  learned  to  respect 
it. 

Our  guardian  angels  sometimes  send  these  feel- 
ings as  danger  signals  to  our  souls. 

It  therefore  required  a  strong  effort  of  her  will 
to  go  forward  and  extend  a  hand  in  greeting  to 
the  lady  whom  her  rector  and  friend  had  intro- 
duced. 

"I  must  beg  pardon  for  this  intrusion,"  the 
Baroness  said  with  her  sweetest  smile;  "but  our 
rector  urged  me  to  come  and  so  I  felt  emboldened 
to  carry  out  the  wish  I  have  long  entertained  to 
make  your  acquaintance.  Your  wonderful  music 
inspires  all  who  hear  you  to  know  you  personally; 


AN  AMBITIOUS   MAN  118 

the  service  lacked  half  its  charm  on  Sunday  be- 
cause you  were  absent.  When  I  learned  that  your 
absence  was  occasioned  by  your  mother's  illness, 
I  asked  the  rector  if  he  thought  a  call  from  me 
would  be  an  intrusion,  and  he  assured  me  to  the 
contrary.  I  used  to  be  considered  an  excellent 
nurse;  I  am  very  strong,  and  full  of  vitality,  and 
if  you  would  permit  me  to  sit  by  your  mother 
some  Sunday  when  you  are  needed  at  church,  I 
should  be  most  happy  to  do  so.  I  should  like  to 
make  the  acquaintance  of  your  mother,  and  com- 
pliment her  on  the  happiness  of  possessing  such  a 
gifted  and  dutiful  daughter." 

Like  all  who  sat  for  any  time  under  the  spell 
of  the  second  Mrs.  Lawrence,  Joy  felt  the  charm 
of  her  voice,  words  and  manner,  and  it  began  to 
seem  as  if  she  had  been  very  unreasonable  in  en- 
tertaining unfounded  prejudices. 

That  the  rector  had  introduced  her  was  alone 
proof  of  her  worthiness;  and  the  gracious  offer 
of  the  distinguished  looking  lady  to  watch  by  the 
bedside  of  a  stranger,  was  certainly  evidence  of 
her  good  heart.  The  frost  disappeared  from  her 
smile,  and  she  warmed  toward  tin  Baroness.  The 
call  lengthened  into  a  visit,  and  as  the  Baroness 
finally  rose  to  go,  Joy  said: 

"I  will  take  you  in  and  introduce  you  to  mamma 
now.  I  think  it  will  do  her  good  to  meet  you, " 


114  AN   AMBITIOUS  MAN 

and  the  Baroness  followed  the  graceful  girl 
through  a  narrow  hall,and  into  a  room  which  had 
evidently  been  intended  for  a  dining-room,  but 
which,  owing  to  its  size  and  its  windows  opening 
to  the  south,  had  been  utilized  as  a  sick  chamber. 

The  invalid  lay  with  her  face  turned  away  from 
the  door.  But  by  the  movement  of  the  delicate 
hand  on  the  counterpane,  Joy  knew  that  her 
mother  was  awake. 

"Mamma,  I  have  brought  alady,a  friend  of  Dr. 
Stuart's,  to  see  you,"  Joy  said  gently.  The  inva- 
lid turned  her  head  upon  the  pillow,  and  the 
Baroness  looked  upon  the  face  of — Berene  Dumont. 

"Berenel" 

"Madam!" 

The  two  spoke  simultaneously,  and  the  invalid 
had  started  upright  in  bed. 

"Mamma,  what  is  the  matter?  Oh,  please  lie 
down,  or  you  will  bring  on  another  hemorrhage," 
cried  the  startled  girl;  but  her  mother  lifted  her 
hand. 

"Joy,"  she  said  in  a  firm, clear  voice, "this  lady 
is  an  old  acquaintance  of  mine.  Please  go  out, 
dear,  and  shut  the  door.  I  wish  to  see  her  alone." 

Joy  passed  out  with  drooping  head  and  a  sink- 
ing heart.  As  the  door  closed  behind  her  the  Bar- 
oness spoke. 

"So  that  is  Preston  Cheney's  daughter,"  she 


AN  AMBITIOUS  MAN  115 

said.  UI  always  had  my  suspicions  of  the  cause 
which  led  you  to  leave  my  house  so  suddenly. 
Does  the  girl  know  who  her  father  is?  and  does 
Senator  Cheney  know  of  her  existence,  may  I  ask?" 

A  crimson  blush  suffused  the  invalid's  face. 
Then  a  flame  of  fire  shot  into  the  dark  eyes,  and 
a  small  red  spot  only  glowed  on  either  pale  cheek. 

"I  do  not  know  by  what  right  you  ask  these 
questions,  Baroness  Brown,  "she  answered  slowly; 
and  her  listener  cringed  under  the  old  appellation 
which  recalled  the  miserable  days  when  she  had 
kept  a  lodging-house — days  she  had  almost  for- 
gotten during  the  last  decade  of  life. 

"But  I  can  assure  you,  madam"  continued 
the  speaker,  "that  my  daughter  knows  no  father 
save  the  good  man,  my  husband,  who  is  dead.  I 
have  never  by  word  or  line  made  my  existence 
known  to  any  one  I  ever  knew  since  I  left  Beryng- 
ford.  I  do  not  know  why  you  should  come  hereto 
insult  me,  madam;  I  have  never  harmed  you  or 
yours,  and  you  have  no  proof  of  the  accusation 
you  just  made,  save  your  own  evil  suspicions." 

The  Baroness  gave  an  unpleasant  laugh. 

"It  is  an  easy  matter  for  me  to  find  proof  of 
my  suspicions  if  I  choose  to  take  the  trouble," 
she  said.  "There  are  detectives  enough  to  hunt 
up  your  trail,  and  I  have  money  enough  to  pay 
them  for  their  trouble.  But  Joy  is  the  living  evi- 


116  AN  AMBITIOUS   MAN 

denoe  of  the  assertion.  She  is  the  image  of  Pres- 
ton Cheney,  as  he  was  twenty-three  years  ago.  I 
am  ready,  however,  to  let  the  matter  drop  on  one 
condition;  and  that  condition  is,  that  you  extract 
a  promise  from  your  daughter  that  she  will  not 
encourage  the  attentions  of  Arthur  Emerson  Stu- 
art, the  rector  of  St.  Blank's.  That  she  will  never 
under  any  circumstances  be  his  wife." 

The  red  spots  faded  to  a  sickly  yellow  in  the 
invalid's  cheeks.  "Why  should  you  ask  this  of 
me?"  she  cried.  "Why  should  you  wish  to  de- 
stroy the  happiness  of  my  child's  life?  She  loves 
Arthur  Stuart,  and  I  know  that  he  loves  her.  It 
is  the  one  thought  which  resigns  me  to  death ;  the 
thought  that  I  may  leave  her  the  beloved  wife  of 
this  good  man." 

The  Baroness  leaned  lower  over  the  pillow  of 
the  invalid  as  she  answered:  "I  will  tell  you  why 
I  ask  this  sacrifice  of  you. 

"Perhaps  you  do  not  know  that  I  married  Judge 
Lawrence  after  the  death  of  his  first  wife.  Per- 
haps you  do  not  know  that  Preston  Cheney's  legit- 
imate daughter  is  as  precious  tome  as  his  illegiti- 
mate child  is  to  you.  Alice  is  only  six  months 
younger  than  Joy,  she  is  frail,  delicate,  sensitive. 
A  severe  disappointment  would  kill  her.  She,  too, 
loves  Arthur  Stuart.  If  your  daughter  will  let 
him  alone,  he  will  marry  Alice.  Surely  the  ille- 


AN  AMBITIOUS  MAN  117 

gitimate  child  should  give  way  to  the  legitimate' 

"If  you  are  selfish  in  this  matter,  I  shall  b 
obliged  to  tell  your  daughter  the  true  story  of  hei 
life,  and  let  her  be  the  judge  of  what  is  right  and 
what  is  wrong.  I  fancy  she  might  have  a  finer 
perception  of  duty  than  you  have — she  is  so  much 
like  her  father." 

The  tortured  invalid  fell  back  panting  on  her 
pillow.  She  put  out  her  hands  with  a  distracted, 
imploring  gesture. 

"Leave  me  to  think,"  she  gasped.  "I  never 
knew  that  Preston  Cheney  had  a  daughter;  I  did 
not  know  he  lived  here.  My  life  has  been  so  quiet, 
so  secluded  these  many  years.  Leave  me  to  think. 
I  will  give  you  my  answer  in  a  few  days;  I  will 
write  you  after  I  reflect  and  pray." 

The  Baroness  passed  out,  and  Joy,  hastening 
into  the  room,  found  her  mother  in  a  wild  parox- 
ysm of  tears.  Late  that  night  Mrs.  Irving  called 
for  writing  materials;  and  for  many  hours  she 
sat  propped  up  in  bed  writing  rapidly. 

When  she  had  completed  her  taik  she  called 
Joy  to  her  side. 

"Darling,"  she  said,  placing  a  sealed  manuscript 
in  her  hands,  "I  want  you  to  keep  this  seal  un- 
broken so  long  as  you  are  happy.  I  know  in  spite 
of  your  deep  sorrow  at  my  death,  which  must  come 
ere  long,  you  will  find  much  happiness  in  life. 


118  AN   AMBITIOUS    MAN 

You  came  smiling  into  existence,  and  no  common 
sorrow  can  deprive  you  of  the  joy  which  is  your 
birthright.  But  there  are  numerous  people  in  the 
world  who  may  strive  to  wound  you  after  I  am 
gone.  If  slanderous  tales  or  cruel  reports  reach 
your  ears,  and  render  you  unhappy,  break  this 
seal  and  read  the  story  I  have  written  here.  There 
are  some  things  which  will  deeply  pain  you,  I 
know.  Do  not  force  yourself  to  read  them  until 
a  necessity  arises.  I  leave  you  this  manuscript 
as  I  might  leave  you  a  weapon  for  self-defense. 
Use  it  only  when  you  are  in  need  of  that  defense. " 

The  next  morning  Mrs.  Irving  was  weakened  by 
another  and  most  serious  hemorrhage  of  the  lungs. 
Her  physician  was  grave,  and  urged  the  daughter 
to  be  prepared  for  the  worst. 

"I  fear  your  mother's  life  is  a  matter  of  days 
only,"  he  said. 


CHAPTER   XIV. 

THE  Baroness  went  directly  from  the  home 
which  she  had  entered  only  to  blight,  and  sent 
her  card  marked  "urgent"  to  Mrs.  Stuart. 

"I  have  come  to  tell  you  an  unpleasant  story," 
she  said.  "A  painful  and  revolting  story,  the 
early  chapters  of  which  were  written  years  ago, 
but  the  sequel  has  only  just  been  made  known  to 
me.  It  concerns  you  and  yours  vitally;  it  also 
concerns  me  and  mine.  I  am  sure  when  you  have 
heard  the  story  to  the  end,  you  will  say  that  truth 
is  stranger  than  fiction,  indeed :  and  you  will  more 
than  ever  realize  the  necessity  of  preventing  your 
son  from  marrying  Joy  Irving — a  child  who  was 
born  before  her  mother  ever  met  Mr.  Irving;  and 
whose  mother,  I  dare  say,  was  no  more  the  actual 
wife  of  Mr.  Irving  in  the  name  of  law  and  decency 
than  she  had  been  the  wife  of  his  many  predeces- 
sors." 

Startled  and  horrified  at  this  beginning  of  the 
story,  Mrs.  Stuart  was  in  a  state  of  excited  indig- 
nation at  the  end.  The  Baroness  had  magnified 
facts  and  distorted  truths  until  she  represented 
119 


120  AN  AMBITIOUS   MAN 

Berene  Dumont  as  a. monster  of  depravity;  a  vi- 
cious being  who  had  been  for  a  short  time  the  re- 
cipient of  the  Baroness'  mistaken  charity,  and  who 
had  repaid  kindness  by  base  ingratitude,  and  im- 
morality. The  man  implicated  in  the  scandal 
which  she  claimed  was  the  cause  of  Berene's  flight, 
was  not  named  in  this  recital. 

Indeed  the  Baroness  claimed  that  he  was  more 
sinned  against  than  sinning,  and  that  it  was  a 
case  of  mesmeric  influence,  or  evil  eye,  on  the  part 
of  the  depraved  woman. 

Mrs,  Lawrence  took  pains  to  avoid  any  reference 
to  Beryngford  also;  speaking  of  these  occurrences 
having  taken  place  while  she  spent  a  summer  in 
a  distant  interior  town,  where,  "after  the  death  of 
the  baron,  she  had  rented  a  villa,  feeling  that  she' 
wanted  to  retire  from  the  world." 

"My  heart  is  always  running  away  with  my 
head, "  she  remarked,  "and  I  thought  this  poor 
creature,  who  was  shunned  and  neglected  by  all, 
worth  saving.  I  tried  to  befriend  her,  and  hoped 
to  waken  the  better  nature  which  every  woman 
possesses,  I  think,  but  she  was  too  far  gone  in  in- 
iquity. 

"You  cannot  imagine,  my  dear  Mrs.  Stuart, 
what  a  shock  it  was  to  me  on  entering  that  sick 
room  to-day,  my  heart  full  of  kindly  sympathy, 
to  encounter  in  the  invalid  the  ungrateful  recip« 


AN  AMBITIOUS   MAN  121 

ient  of  my  past  favors;  and  to  realize  that  her 
daughter  was  no  other  than  the  shameful  offspring 
of  her  immoral  past.  In  spite  of  the  girl 's  beauty, 
there  is  an  expression  about  her  face  which  I  never 
liked;  and  I  fully  understand  now  why  I  did  not 
like  it.  Of  course,  Mrs.  Stuart,  this  story  is  told 
to  you  in  strict  confidence.  I  would  not  for  the 
world  have  dear  Mrs.  Cheney  know  of  it,  nor 
would  I  pollute  sweet  Alice  with  such  a  tale.  In- 
deed, Alice  would  not  understand  it  if  she  were 
told,  for  she  is  as  ignorant  and  innocent  as  a 
child  in  arms  of  such  matters.  We  have  kept  her 
absolutely  unspotted  from  the  world.  But  I  knew 
it  was  my  duty  to  tell  you  the  whole  shameful 
story.  If  worst  comes  to  worst,  you  will  be  obliged 
to  tell  your  son  perhaps,  and  if  he  doubts  the 
story  send  him  to  me  for  its  verification." 

Worst  came  to  worst  before  twenty-four  hours 
had  passed.  The  rector  received  word  that  Mrs. 
Irving  was  rapidly  failing,  and  went  to  act  the 
part  of  spiritual  counselor  to  the  invalid,  and 
sympathetic  friend  to  the  suffering  girl. 

When  he  returned  his  mother  watched  his  face 
with  eager,  anxious  eyes.  He  looked  haggard  and 
ill,  as  if  he  had  passed  through  a  severe  ordeal. 
He  could  talk  of  nothing  but  the  beautiful  and 
brave  girl,  who  was  about  to  lose  her  one  wor- 
shiped companion,  and  who  ere  many  hours  passed 
would  stand  utterly  alone  in  the  world. 


122  AN  AMBITIOUS   MAN 

"I  never  saw  you  so  affected  before  by  the 
troubles  and  sorrows  of  your  parishioners,"  Mrs. 
Stuart  said.  "I  wonder,  Arthur,  why  you  take  the 
sorrows  of  this  family  so  keenly  to  heart." 

The  young  rector  looked  his  mother  full  in  the 
face  with  calm,  sad  eyes.  Then  he  said  slowly: 
"I  suppose,  mother,  it  is  because  I  love  Joy  Ir- 
ving with  all  my  heart.  You  must  have  suspected 
this  for  some  time.  I  know  that  you  have,  and 
that  the  thought  has  pained  you.  You  have  had 
other  and  more  ambitious  aims  for  me.  Earnest 
Christian  and  good  woman  that  you  are,  you  have 
a  worldly  and  conventional  vein  in  your  nature, 
which  makes  you  reverence  position,  wealth  and 
family  to  a  marked  degree.  You  would,  I  know, 
like  to  see  me  unite  myself  with  some  royal  family, 
were  that  possible;  failing  in  that,  you  would 
choose  the  daughter  of  some  great  and  aristocratic 
house  to  be  my  bride.  Ah,  well,  dear  mother,  you 
will,  I  know,  concede  that  marriage  without  love 
is  unholy.  I  am  not  able  to  force  myself  to  love 
some  great  lady,  even  supposing  I  could  win  her 
if  I  did  love  her." 

"But  you  might  keep  yourself  from  forming  a 
foolish  and  unworthy  attachment,"  Mrs.  Stuart 
interrupted.  "With  your  will-power,  your  brain, 
your  reasoning  faculties,  I  see  no  necessity  for 
your  allowing  a  pretty  face  to  run  away  with  your 


AN  AMBITIOUS   MAN  123 

heart.  Nothing  could  be  more  unsuitable,  more 
shocking,  more  dreadful,  than  to  have  you  make 
that  girl  your  wife, Arthur." 

Mrs.  Stuart's  voice  rose  as  she  spoke,  from  a 
quiet  reasoning  tone  to  a  high, excited  wail.  She 
had  not  meant  to  say  so  much.  She  had  intended 
merely  to  appeal  to  her  son's  affection  for  her, 
without  making  any  unpleasant  disclosures  regard- 
ing Joy's  mother;  she  thought  merely  to  win  a 
promise  from  him  that  he  would  not  compromise 
himself  at  present  with  the  girl,  through  an  ex- 
cess of  sympathy.  But  already  she  had  said 
enough  to  arouse  the  young  man  into  a  defender 
of  the  girl  he  loved. 

"I  think  your  language  quite  too  strong,  moth- 
er, "he  said,  with  a  reproving  tone  in  his  voice. 
"Miss  Irving  is  good,  gifted,  amiable,  beautiful, 
beside  being  young  and  full  of  health.  I  am  sure 
there  could  be  nothing  shocking  or  dreadful  in 
any  man's  uniting  his  destiny  with  such  a  being, 
in  case  he  was  fortunate  enough  to  win  her.  The 
fact  that  she  is  poor,  and  not  of  illustrious  lineage, 
is  but  a  very  worldly  consideration.  Mr.  Irving 
was  a  most  intelligent  and  excellent  man,  even  if 
he  was  a  grocer.  The  American  idea  of  aristoc- 
racy is  grotesquely  absurd  at  the  best.  A  man 
may  spend  hia  time  and  strength  in  buying  and 
selling  things  wherewith  to  clothe  the  body,  and 


124  AN  AMBITIOUS  MAN 

if  he  succeeds,his  children  are  admitted  to  the  in- 
timacy of  princes;  but  no  success  can  open  that 
door  to  the  children  of  a  man  who  trades  in  food, 
wherewith  to  sustain  the  body.  We  can  none  of 
us  afford  to  put  on  airs  here  in  America,  with 
butchers  and  Dutch  peasant  traders  only  three  or 
four  generations  back  of  our  'best  families.' 
As  for  me,  mother,  remember  my  loved  father  was 
a  broker.  That  would  damn  him  in  the  eyes  of 
some  people,  you  know,  cultured  gentleman  that 
he  was." 

Mrs.  Stuart  sat  very  still,  breathing  hard  and 
trying  to  gain  control  of  herself  for  some  moments 
after  her  sou  ceased  speaking.  He,  too,  had  said 
more  than  he  intended,  and  he  was  sorry  that  he 
had  hurt  his  mother's  feelings  as  he  saw  her  evi- 
dent agitation.  But  as  he  rose  to  go  forward  and 
beg  her  pardon,  she  spoke. 

"The  person  of  whom  we  were  speaking  has 
nothing  whatever  to  do  with  Mr.  Irving,"  she 
said.  "Joy  Irving  was  born  before  her  mother 
was  married.  Mrs.  Irving  has  a  most  infamous 
past,  and  I  would  rather  see  you  dead  than  the 
husband  of  her  child.  You  certainly  would  not 
want  your  children  to  inherit  the  propensities  of 
such  a  grandmother?  And  remember  the  curse 
descends  to  the  third  and  fourth  generations.  If 
you  doubt  my  words,  go  to  the  Baroness.  She 


AN  AMBITIOUS   MAN  125 

knows  the  whole  story,  but  has  revealed  it  to  no 
one  but  me." 

Mrs.  Stuart  left  the  room,  closing  the  door  be- 
hind her  as  she  went.  She  did  not  want  to  be 
obliged  to  go  over  the  details  of  the  story  which 
she  had  heard;  she  had  made  her  statement,  one 
which  she  knew  must  startle  and  horrify  her  son, 
with  his  high  ideals  of  womanly  purity,  and  she 
left  him  to  review  the  situation  in  silence.  It  was 
several  hours  before  the  rector  left  his  room. 

When  he  did,  he  went,  not  to  the  Baroness,  but 
directly  to  Mrs.  Irving.  They  were  alone  for  more 
than  an  hour.  When  he  emerged  from  the  room, 
his  face  was  as  white  as  death,  and  he  did  not  look 
at  Joy  as  she  accompanied  him  to  the  door. 

Two  days  later  Mrs.  Irving  died. 


CHAPTER   XV. 

THE  congregation  of  St.  Blank's  Church  was 
rendered  sad  and  solicitous  by  learning  that  its 
rector  was  on  the  eve  of  nervous  prostration,  and 
that  his  physician  had  ordered  a  change  of  air. 
He  went  away  in  company  with  his  mother  for  a 
vacation  of  three  months.  The  day  after  his  de- 
parture Joy  Irving  received  a  letter  from  him 
which  read  as  follows: 


DEAR  Miss  IRVING:  —  You  may  not  in  your 
deep  grief  have  given  rne  a  thought.  If  such  a 
thought  has  been  granted  one  so  unworthy,  it 
must  have  taken  the  form  of  surprise  that  your 
rector  and  friend  has  made  no  call  of  condolence 
since  death  entered  your  household.  I  want  to 
write  one  little  word  to  you,  asking  you  to  be  leni- 
ent in  your  judgment  of  me.  I  am  ill  in  body  and 
mind.  I  feel  that  I  am  on  the  eve  of  some  distress- 
ing malady.  I  am  not  able  to  reason  clearly,  or 
to  judge  what  is  right  and  what  is  wrong.  I  am  as 
one  tossed  between  the  laws  of  God  and  the  laws 
made  by  men,  and  bruised  in  heart  and  in  soul.  I 
dare  not  see  you  or  speak  to  you  while  I  am  in 
this  state  of  mind.  I  fear  for  what  I  may  say  or 
do.  I  have  not  slept  since  I  last  saw  you.  I  must 
go  away  and  gain  strength  and  equilibrium. 
126 


AN  AMBITIOUS    MAN  127 

When  I  return  I  shall  hope  to  be  master  of  my- 
self.    Until  then,  adieu. 

"ARTHUR  EMERSON  STUART." 

These  wild  and  almost  incoherent  phrases 
stirred  the  young  girl's  heart  with  intense  pain 
and  anxiety.  She  had  known  for  almost  a  year 
that  she  loved  the  young  rector;  she  had  believed 
that  he  cared  for  her,  and  without  allowing  her- 
self to  form  any  definite  thoughts  of  the  future, 
she  had  lived  in  a  blissful  consciousness  of  loving 
and  being  loved,  which  is  to  the  fulfillment  of  a 
love  dream,  like  inhaling  the  perfume  of  a  rose, 
compared  to  the  gathered  flower  and  its  attend- 
ant thorns. 

The  young  clergyman's  absence  at  the  time  of 
her  greatest  need  had  caused  her  both  wonder  and 
pain.  His  letter  but  increased  both  sentiments 
without  explaining  the  cause. 

It  increased,  too,  her  love  for  him,  for  whenever 
over-anxiety  is  aroused  for  one  dear  to  us,  our 
love  is  augmented. 

She  felt  that  the  young  man  was  in  some  great 
trouble,  unknown  to  her,  and  she  longed  to  be  able 
to  comfort  him.  Into  the  maiden's  tender  and 
ardent  affection  stole  the  wifely  wish  to  console 
and  the  motherly  impulse  to  protect  her  dear  one 
from  pain,  which  are  strong  elements  in  every 
real  woman's  love. 


128  AN  AMBITIOUS  MAN 

Mrs.  Irving  had  died  without  writing  one  word 
to  the  Baroness ;  and  that  personage  was  in  a  state 
of  constant  excitement  until  she  heard  of  the  rec- 
tor's plans  for  rest  and  travel.  Mrs.  Stuart  in- 
formed her  of  the  conversation  which  had  taken 
place  between  herself  and  her  son;  and  of  his  evi- 
dent distress  of  mind,  which  had  reacted  on  his 
body  and  made  it  necessary  for  him  to  give  up 
mental  work  for  a  season. 

"I  feel  that  I  owe  you  a  debt  of  gratitude,  dear 
Baroness,  "Mrs.  Stuart  had  said.  "Sad  as  this  con- 
dition of  things  is,  imagine  how  much  worse  it 
would  be,  had  my  SOD,  through  an  excess  of  sym- 
pathy for  that  girl  at  this  time,  compromised 
himself  with  her  before  we  learned  the  terrible 
truth  regarding  her  birth.  I  feel  sure  my  son  will 
regain  his  health  after  a  few  months'  absence,  and 
that  he  will  not  jeopardize  my  happiness  and  his 
future  by  any  further  thoughts  of  this  unfortu- 
nate girl,  who  in  the  meantime  may  not  be  here 
when  we  return." 

The  Baroness  made  a  mental  resolve  that  the 
girl  should  not  be  there. 

While  the  rector's  illness  and  proposed  absence 
was  sufficient  evidence  that  he  had  resolved  upon 
sacrificing  his  love  for  Joy  on  the  altar  of  duty  to 
his  mother  and  his  calling,  yet  the  Baroness  felt 
that  danger  lurked  in  the  air  while  Miss  Irving 


AN   AMBITIOUS   MAN  129 

occupied  her  present  position.  No  sooner  had  Mrs. 
Stuart  and  her  son  left  the  city,  than  the  Baroness 
sent  an  anonymous  letter  to  the  young  organist. 
It  read: 

UI  do  not  know  whether  your  mother  im- 
parted the  secret  of  her  past  life  to  you  before 
she  died,  but  as  that  secret  is  known  to  several 
people,  it  seems  cruelly  unjust  that  you  are  kept 
in  ignorance  of  it.  You  are  not  Mr.  Irving's 
child.  You  were  born  before  your  mother  married. 
While  it  is  not  your  fault,  only  your  misfortune, 
it  would  be  wise  for  you  to  go  where  the  facts  are 
not  so  well  known  as  in  the  congregation  of  St. 
Blank's.  There  are  people  in  that  congregation 
who  consider  you  guilty  of  a  willful  deception  in 
wearing  the  name  you  do,  and  of  an  affront  to 
good  taste  in  accepting  the  position  you  occupy. 
Many  people  talk  of  leaving  the  church  on  your 
account.  Your  gifts  as  a  musician  would  win  you 
a  position  elsewhere,  and  as  I  learn  that  your 
mother's  life  was  insured  for  a  considerable  sum, 
I  am  sure  you  are  able  to  seek  new  fields  where 
you  can  hide  your  disgrace. 

"A  WELL-WISHER." 

Quivering  with  pain  and  terror,  the  young  girl 
cast  the  letter  into  the  fire,  thinking  that  it  was 
the  work  of  one  of  those  half-crazed  beings  whose 
mania  takes  the  form  of  anonymous  letters  to  un- 
offending people.  Only  recently  such  a  person 
had  been  brought  into  the  courts  for  this  offense. 
It  occurred  to  her  also  that  it  might  be  the  work 
of  some  one  who  wished  to  obtain  her  position  as 


130  AN  AMBITIOUS  MAN 

organist  of  St.  Blank's.  Musicians,  she  knew, 
were  said  to  be  the  most  jealous  of  all  people,  and 
while  she  had  never  suffered  from  them  before,  it 
might  be  that  her  time  had  now  come  to  experi- 
ence the  misfortunes  of  her  profession. 

Tender-hearted  and  kindly  in  feeling  to  all 
humanity,  she  felt  a  sickening  sense  of  sorrow  and 
fear  at  the  thought  that  there  existed  such  a 
secret  enemy  for  her  anywhere  in  the  world. 

She  went  out  upon  the  street,  and  for  the  first 
time  in  her  life  she  experienced  a  sense  of  suspi- 
cion and  distrust  toward  the  people  she  met;  for 
the  first  time  in  her  life,  she  realized  that  the 
world  was  not  all  kind  and  ready  to  give  her  back 
the  honest  friendship  and  the  sweet  good-will 
which  filled  her  heart  for  all  her  kind.  Strive  as 
she  would,  she  could  not  cast  off  the  depression 
caused  by  this  vile  letter.  It  was  her  first  experi- 
ence of  this  cowardly  and  despicable  phase  of  hu- 
man malice,  and  she  felt  wounded  in  soul  as  by  a 
poisoned  arrow  shot  in  the  dark.  And  then,  sud- 
enly  there  came  to  her  the  memory  of  her  moth- 
er's words — "If  unhappiness  ever  comes  to  you, 
read  this  letter." 

Surely  this  was  the  time  she  needed  to  read  that 
letter.  That  it  contained  some  secret  of  her  moth- 
er's life  she  felt  sure,  and  she  was  equally  sure 
that  it  contained  nothing  that  would  cause  her  to 
blush  for  that  beloved  mother. 


AN  AMBITIOUS  MAN  181 

"Whatever  the  manuscript  may  have  to  reveal 
to  me,"  she  said,  uitis  time  that  I  should  know." 
She  took  the  package  from  the  hiding  place,  and 
broke  the  seal.  Slowly  she  read  it  to  the  end,  as 
if  anxious  to  make  no  error  in  understanding 
every  phase  of  the  long  story  it  related.  Begin- 
ning with  the  marriage  of  her  mother  to  the  French 
professor,  Berene  gave  a  detailed  account  of  her 
own  sad  and  troubled  life,  and  the  shadow  which 
the  father's  appetite  for  drugs  cast  over  her  whole 
youth.  "They  say,"  she  wrote,  "that there  is  no 
personal  devil  in  existence.  I  think  this  is  true; 
he  has  taken  the  form  of  drugs  and  spirituous 
liquors,  and  so  his  work  of  devastation  goes  on." 
Then  followed  the  story  of  the  sacrilegious  mar- 
riage to  save  her  father  from  suicide,  of  her  early 
widowhood;  and  the  proffer  of  the  "Baroness"  to 
give  her  a  home.  Of  her  life  of  servitude  there, 
her  yearning  for  an  education,  and  her  meeting 
with  "Apollo,"  as  she  designated  Preston  Cheney. 
"For  truly  he  was  like  the  glory  of  the  rising  day 
to  me,  the  first  to  give  me  hope,  courage  and  un- 
selfish aid.  I  loved  him,  I  worshiped  him.  He 
loved  me,  but  he  strove  to  crush  and  kill  this  love 
because  he  had  worked  out  an  ambitious  career  for 
himself.  To  extricate  himself  from  many  difficul- 
ties and  embarrassments,  and  to  further  his  am- 
bitious dreams,  he  betrothed  himself  to  the 


182  AN   AMBITIOUS   MAN 

daughter  of  a  rich  and  powerful  man.  He  made 
no  profession  of  love,  and  she  asked  none.  She 
was  incapable  of  giving  or  inspiring  that  holy 
passion.  She  only  asked  to  be  married. 

"I  only  asked  to  be  loved.  Knowing  nothing  of 
the  terrible  conflict  in  his  breast,  knowing  nothing 
of  his  new-made  ties,  I  was  wounded  to  the  soul 
by  his  speaking  unkindly  to  me — words  he  forced 
himself  to  speak  to  hide  his  real  feelings.  And 
then  it  was  that  a  strange  fate  caused  him  to  find 
me  fainting,  suffering,  and  praying  for  death. 
The  love  in  both  hearts  could  no  longer  be  re- 
strained. Augmented  by  its  long  control,  sharp- 
ened by  the  agony  we  had  both  suffered, 
overwhelmed  by  the  surprise  of  the  meeting,  we 
lost  reason  and  prudence.  Everything  was  for- 
gotten save  our  love.  When  it  was  too  late  I  fore- 
saw the  anguish  and  sorrow  I  must  bring  into  this 
man's  life.  I  fear  it  was  this  thought  rather  than 
repentance  for  sin  which  troubled  me.  Well  may 
you  ask  why  I  did  not  think  of  all  this  before  in- 
stead of  after  the  error  was  committed.  Why  did 
not  Eve  realize  the  consequences  of  the  fall  until 
she  had  eaten  of  the  apple?  Only  afterward  did 
I  learn  of  the  unholy  ties  which  my  lover  had 
formed  that  very  day — ties  which  he  swore  to  me 
should  be  broken  ere  another  day  passed,  to  ren- 
der him  free  to  make  me  his  wife  in  the  eyes  of 
men,  as  I  already  was  in  the  sight  of  God. 


AN  AMBITIOUS  MAN  133 

"Yet  a  strange  and  sudden  resolve  came  to  me 
as  I  listened  to  him.  Far  beyond  the  thought  of 
my  own  ruin,  rose  the  consciousness  of  the  ruin  I 
should  bring  upon  his  life  by  allowing  him  to  car- 
ry out  his  design.  To  be  his  wife,  his  helpmate, 
chosen  from  the  whole  world  as  one  he  deemed 
most  worthy  and  most  able  to  cheer  and  aid  him 
in  life's  battle — that  seemed  heaven  to  me;  but  to 
know  that  by  one  rash,  impetuous  act  of  folly,  I 
had  placed  him  in  a  position  where  he  felt  that 
honor  compelled  him  to  marry  me — why,  this 
thought  was  more  bitter  than  death.  I  knew  that 
he  loved  me;  yet  I  knew, too, that  by  a  union  with 
me  under  the  circumstances  he  would  antagonize 
those  who  were  now  his  best  and  most  influential 
friends,  and  that  his  entire  career  would  be  ruined 
I  resolved  to  go  away;  to  disappear  from  his  life 
and  leave  no  trace.  If  his  love  was  as  sincere  as 
mine,  he  would  find  me;  and  time  would  show 
him  some  wiser  way  of  breaking  his  new-made 
fetters  than  the  rash  and  sudden  method  he  now 
contemplated.  He  had  forgotten  to  protect  me 
with  his  love,  but  I  could  not  forget  to  protect 
him.  In  every  true  woman's  love  there  is  the  ma- 
ternal element  which  renders  sacrifice  natural. 

"Fate  hastened  and  furthered  my  plans  for  de- 
parture. Made  aware  that  the  Baroness  was  sus- 
picious of  my  fault,  and  learning  that  my  lover 


134  AN  AMBITIOUS  MAN 

was  suddenly  called  to  the  bedside  of  a  is  fiancee, 
I  made  my  escape  from  the  town  and  left  no  trace 
behind.  I  went*  to  that  vast  haystack  of  lost 
needles — New  York,  and  effaced  Berene  Dumont 
in  Mrs.  Lament.  The  money  left  from  my  fa- 
ther's belongings  I  resolved  to  use  in  cultivating  my 
voice.  I  advertised  for  embroidery  and  fine  sew- 
ing also,  and  as  I  was  an  expert  with  the  needle, 
I  was  able  to  support  myself  and  lay  aside  a  little 
sum  each  week.  I  trimmed  hats  at  a  small  price, 
and  added  to  my  income  in  various  manners,  ow- 
ing to  my  French  taste  and  my  deft  fingers. 

"I  was  desolate,  sad,  lonely,  but  not  despair- 
ing. What  woman  can  despair  when  she  knows 
herself  loved?  To  me  that  consciousness  was  a 
far  greater  source  of  happiness  than  would  have 
been  the  knowledge  that  I  was  an  empress,  or  the 
wife  of  a  millionaire,  envied  by  the  whole  world. 
I  believed  my  lover  would  find  me  in  time,  that 
we  should  be  reunited.  I  believed  this  until  I  saw 
the  announcement  of  his  marriage  in  the  press, 
and  read  that  he  and  his  bride  had  sailed  for  an 
extended  foreign  tour;  but  with  this  stunning 
news,  there  came  to  me  the  strange,  sweet,  start- 
ling consciousness  that  you,  my  darling  child, 
were  coming  to  console  me. 

"I  know  that  under  the  circumstances  I  ought  to 
have  been  borne  down  to  the  earth  with  a  guilty 


AN   AMBITIOUS   MAN  135 

shame;  I  ought  to  have  considered  you  as  a  pun- 
ishment for  my  sin — and  walked  in  the  valley  of 
humiliation  and  despair. 

"But  I  did  not.  I  lived  in  a  state  of  mental 
exaltation;  every  thought  was  a  prayer,  every 
emotion  was  linked  with  religious  fervor.  I  was 
no  longer  alone  or  friendless,  for  I  had  you.  I 
sang  as  I  had  never  sung,  and  one  theatrical  man- 
ager who  happened  to  call  upon  my  teacher  dur- 
ing my  lesson  hour,  offered  me  a  position  at  a 
good  salary  at  once  if  I  would  accept. 

"I  could  not  accept,  of  course,  knowing  what 
the  coming  months  were  to  bring  to  me,  but  I  took 
his  card  and  promised  to  write  him  when  I  was 
ready  to  take  a  position.  You  came  into  life  in 
the  depressing  atmosphere  of  a  city  hospital,  my 
dear  child,  yet  even  there  I  was  not  depressed,  and 
your  face  wore  a  smile  of  joy  the  first  time  I  gazed 
upon  it.  So  I  named  you  Joy — and  well  have  you 
worn  the  name.  My  first  sorrow  was  in  being 
obliged  to  leave  you;  for  I  had  to  leave  you  with 
those  human  angels,  the  sweet  sisters  of  charity, 
while  I  went  forth  to  make  a  home  for  you.  My 
voice,  as  is  sometimes  the  case,  was  richer,  strong- 
er and  of  greater  compass  after  I  had  passed 
through  maternity.  I  accepted  a  position  with  a 
traveling  theatrical  company,  where  I  was  to  sing 
a  solo  in  one  act.  My  success  was  not  phenome- 


136  AN  AMBITIOUS  MAN 

nal,  but  it  was  success  nevertheless.  I  followed 
this  life  for  three  years,  seeing  you  only  at  inter- 
vals. Then  the  consciousness  came  to  me  that 
without  long  and  profound  study  I  could  never 
achieve  more  than  a  third-rate  success  in  my  pro- 
fession. 

"I  had  dreamed  of  becoming  a  great  singer;  but 
I  learned  that  a  voice  alone  does  not  make  a  great 
singer.  I  needed  years  of  study,  and  this  would 
necessitate  the  expenditure  of  large  sums  of  money. 
I  had  grown  heart-sick  and  disgusted  with  the  an- 
noyances and  vulgarity  I  was  subjected  to  in  my 
position.  When  you  were  four  years  old  a  good 
man  offered  me  a  good  home  as  his  wife.  It  was 
the  first  honest  love  I  had  encountered,  while 
scores  of  men  had  made  a  pretense  of  loving  me 
during  these  years. 

"I  was  hungering  for  a  home  where  I  could 
claim  you  and  have  the  joy  of  your  daily  compan- 
ionship instead  of  brief  glimpses  of  you  at  the  in- 
tervals of  months.  My  voice,  never  properly 
trained,  was  beginning  to  break.  I  resolved  to 
put  Mr.  Irving  to  a  test;  I  would  tell  him  the  true 
story  of  your  birth,  and  if  he  still  wished  me  to 
be  his  wife,  I  would  marry  him. 

"I  carried  out  my  resolve,  and  we  were  married 
the  day  after  he  had  heard  my  story.  I  lived  a 
peaceful  and  even  happy  life  with  Mr.  Irving.  He 


AN   AMBITIOUS   MAN  137 

was  devoted  to  you,  and  never  by  look,  word  or 
act,  seemed  to  remember  my  past.  I,  too,  at  times 
almost  forgot  it,  so  strange  a  thing  is  the  human 
heart  under  the  influence  of  time.  Imagine,  then, 
the  shock  of  remembrance  and  the  tidal  wave  of 
memories  which  swept  over  me  when  in  the  lady 
you  brought  to  call  upon  me  I  recognized — the 
Baroness. 

"It  is  because  she  threatened  to  tell  you  that 
you  were  not  born  in  wedlock  that  I  leave  this 
manuscript  for  you.  It  is  but  a  few  weeks  since 
you  told  me  the  story  of  Marah  Adams,  and  as- 
sured me  that  you  thought  her  mother  did  right 
in  confessing  the  truth  to  her  daughter.  Little 
did  you  dream  with  what  painful  interest  I  lis- 
tened to  your  views  on  that  subject.  Little  did 
I  dream  that  I  should  so  soon  be  called  upon  to 
act  upon  them. 

"But  the  time  is  now  come,  and  I  want  no 
strange  hand  to  deal  you  a  blow  in  the  dark;  if 
any  part  of  the  story  comes  to  you,  I  want  you 
to  know  the  whole  truth.  You  will  wonder  why  I 
have  not  told  you  the  name  of  your  father.  It  is 
strange,  but  from  the  hour  I  knew  of  his  marriage, 
and  of  your  dawning  life,  I  have  felt  a  jealous  fear 
lest  he  should  ever  take  you  from  me;  even  after 
I  am  gone,  I  would  not  have  him  know  of  your  ex- 
istence and  be  unable  to  claim  you  openly.  Any 


188  AN  AMBITIOUS   MAN 

acquaintance  between  you  could  only  result  in 
sorrow. 

"I  have  never  blamed  him  for  my  past  weak- 
ness, however  I  have  blamed  him  for  his  unholy 
marriage.  Our  fault  was  mutual.  I  was  no  ig- 
norant child;  while  young  in  years,  I  had  suffi- 
cient knowledge  of  human  nature  to  protect  myself 
had  I  used  my  will-power  and  my  reason.  Like 
many  another  woman,  I  used  neither;  unlike  the 
majority,  I  did  not  repent  my  sin  or  its  conse- 
quences. I  have  ever  believed  you  to  be  a  more 
divinely  born  being  than  any  children  who  may 
have  resulted  from  my  lover's  unholy  marriage. 
I  die  strong  in  the  belief.  God  bless  you,  my  dear 
child,  and  farewell." 

Joy  sat  silent  and  pale  like  one  in  a  trance  for 
a  long  time  after  she  had  finished  reading.  Then 
she  said  aloud,  "So  I  am  another  like  Marah 
Adams;  it  was  this  knowledge  which  caused  the 
rector  to  write  me  that  strange  letter.  It  was  this 
knowledge  which  sent  him  away  without  coming 
to  say  one  word  of  adieu.  The  woman  who  sent 
me  the  message,  sent  it  to  him  also.  Well,  I  can 
be  as  brave  as  my  mother  was.  I,  too,  can  disap- 
pear." 

She  arose  and  began  silently  and  rapidly  to 
make  preparations  for  a  journey.  She  felt  a  nerv- 
ous haste  to  get  away  from  something — from  all 


AN  AMBITIOUS  MAN  189 

things.  Everything  stable  in  the  world  seemed 
to  have  slipped  from  her  hold  in  the  last  few  days. 
Home,  mother,  love,  and  now  hope  and  pride 
were  gone  too.  She  worked  for  more  than  two 
hours  without  giving  vent  to  even  a  sigh.  Then 
suddenly  she  buried  her  face  in  her  hands  and 
sobbed  aloud:  "Oh,  mother,  mother,  you  were 
not  ashamed,  but  I  am  ashamed  for  you  I  Why 
was  I  ever  born?  God  forgive  me  for  the  sinful 
thought,  but  I  wish  you  had  lied  to  me  in  place 
of  telling  me  the  truth." 


CHAPTER  XVI. 

JUST  as  Mrs.  Irving  had  written  her  story  for 
her  daughter  to  read,  she  told  it,  in  the  main,  to 
the  rector  a  few  days  before  her  death. 

Only  once  before  had  the  tale  passed  her  lips; 
then  her  listener  was  Horace  Irving;  and  his  only 
comment  was  to  take  her  in  his  arms  and  place 
the  kiss  of  betrothal  on  her  lips.  Never  again  was 
the  painful  subject  referred  to  between  them. 
So  imbued  had  Berene  Dumont  become  with  her 
belief  in  the  legitimacy  of  her  child,  and  in  her 
own  purity,  that  she  felt  but  little  surprise  at  the 
calm  manner  in  which  Mr.  Irving  received  her 
story,  and  now  when  the  rector  of  St.  Blank's 
Church  was  her  listener,  she  expected  the  same 
broad  judgment  to  be  given  her.  But  it  was  the 
calmness  of  a  great  and  all-forgiving  love  which 
actuated  Mr.  Irving}  and  overcame  all  other  feel- 
ings. 

Wholly  unconventional  in  nature,  caring  notn- 
ing  and  knowing  little  of  the  extreme  ideas  of  or- 
thodox society  on  these  subjects,  the  girl  Berene 
and  the  woman  Mrs.  Irving  had  lived  a  life  so 
wholly  secluded  from  the  world  at  large,  so  abso- 
140 


AN   AMBITIOUS    MAN  141 

lutely  devoid  of  intimate  friendships,  so  absorbed 
in  her  own  ideals,  that  she  was  incapable  of  un- 
derstanding the  conventional  opinion  regarding  a 
woman  with  a  history  like  hers. 

In  all  those  years  she  had  never  once  felt  a  sen- 
sation of  shame.  Mr.  Irving  had  requested  her  to 
rear  Joy  in  the  belief  that  she  was  his  child.  As 
the  matter  could  in  no  way  concern  any  one  else, 
Mrs.  Irving's  lips  had  remained  sealed  on  the  sub- 
ject; but  not  with  any  idea  of  concealing  a  dis- 
grace. She  could  not  associate  disgrace  with  her 
love  ^or  Preston  Cheney.  She  believed  herself  to 
be  his  spiritual  widow, as  it  were.  His  mortal  clay 
and  legal  name  only  belonged  to  his  wife. 

Mr.  Irving  had  met  Berene  on  a  railroad  train, 
and  had  conceived  one  of  those  sudden  and  intense 
passions  with  which  a  woman  with  a  past  often 
inspires  an  innocent  and  unworldly  young  man. 
He  was  sincerely  and  truly  religious  by  nature, 
and  as  spotless  as  a  maiden  in  mind  and  body. 

When  he  had  dreamed  of  a  wife,  it  was  always 
of  some  shy,  innocent  girl  whom  he  should  woo 
almost  from  her  mother's  arms;  some  gen  tie,  pious 
maid,  carefully  reared,  who  would  help  him  to 
establish  the  Christian  household  of  his  imagina- 
tion. He  had  thought  that  love  would  first  come 
to  him  as  admiring  respect,  then  tender  friend- 
ship, then  love  for  some  such  maiden;  instead  it 


142  AN  AMBITIOUS  MAN 

had  swooped  down  upon  him  in  the  form  of  an 
intense  passion  for  an  absolute  stranger — a  woman 
traveling  with  a  theatrical  company.  He  was  like 
a  sleeper  who  awakens  suddenly  and  finds  a  scorch- 
ing midday  sun  beating  upon  his  eyes.  A  wrecked 
freight  train  upon  the  track  detained  for  several 
hours  the  car  in  which  they  traveled.  The  passenger 
waived  ceremony  and  conversed  to  pass  the  time, 
and  Mr.  Irving  learned  Berene's  name,  occupation 
and  destination.  He  followed  her  for  a  week,  and 
at  the  end  of  that  time  asked  her  hand  in  mar- 
riage. 

Even  after  he  had  heard  the  story  of  her  life, 
he  was  not  deterred  from  his  resolve  to  make 
her  his  wife.  All  the  Christian  charity  of  his  na- 
ture, all  its  chivalry  was  aroused,  and  he  believed 
he  was  plucking  a  brand  from  the  burning.  He 
never  repented  his  act.-  He  lived  wholly  for  his 
wife  and  child,  and  for  the  good  he  could  do  with 
them  as  his  faithful  allies.  He  drew  more  and 
more  away  from  all  the  allurements  of  the  world, 
and  strove  to  rear  Joy  in  what  he  believed  to  be  a 
purely  Christian  life,  and  to  make  his  wife  forget, 
if  possible,  that  she  had  ever  known  a  sorrow. 
All  of  sincere  gratitude,  tenderness  and  gentle 
affection  possible  for  her  to  feel,  Berene  bestowed 
upon  her  husband  during  his  life,  and  gave  to  his 
memory  after  he  was  gone. 


AN   AMBITIOUS   MAN  148 

Joy  had  been  excessively  fond  of  Mr.  Irving, 
and  it  was  the  dread  of  causing  her  a  deep  sorrow 
in  the  knowledge  that  she  was  not  his  child,  and 
the  fear  that  Preston  Cheney  would  in  any  way  in- 
terfere with  her  possession  of  Joy,  which  had  dis- 
tressed the  mother  during  the  visit  of  the  Baroness, 
rather  than  an  unwillingness  to  have  her  sin  re- 
vealed to  her  daughter.  Added  to  this,  the  intru- 
sion of  the  Baroness  into  this  long  hidden  and 
sacred  experience  seemed  a  sacrilege  from  which 
she  shrank  with  horror.  But  she  now  told  the  tale 
to  Arthur  Stuart  frankly  and  fearlessly. 

He  had  asked  her  to  confide  to  him  whatever 
secret  existed  regarding  Joy's  birth. 

"There  is  a  rumor  afloat,"  he  said,  "that  Joy 
is  not  Mr.  Irving's  child.  I  love  your  daughter, 
Mrs.  Irving,  and  I  feel  it  is  my  right  to  know  all 
the  circumstances  of  her  life.  I  believe  the  story 
which  was  told  my  mother  to  be  the  invention  of 
some  enemy  who  is  jealous  of  Joy's  beauty  and 
talents,  and  I  would  like  to  be  in  a  position  to 
silence  these  slanders." 

So  Mrs.  Irving  told  the  story  to  the  end;  and 
having  told  it,  she  felt  relieved  and  happy  in  the 
thought  that  it  was  imparted  to  the  only  two  peo- 
ple whom  it  could  concern  in  the  future. 

No  disturbing  fear  came  to  her,  that  the  rector 
would  hesitate  to  make  Joy  his  wife.  To  Berene 


144  AN  AMBITIOUS  MAN 

Durnont,  love  was  the  law.  If  love  existed  between 
two  souls  she  could  not  understand  why  any  con- 
vention of  society  should  stand  in  the  way  of  its 
fulfillment. 

Arthur  Stuart  in  his  role  of  spiritual  confessor 
and  consoler  had  never  before  encountered  such  a 
phase  of  human  nature.  He  had  listened  to  many 
a  tale  of  sin  and  folly  from  women's  lips,  but  al- 
ways had  the  sinner  bemoaned  her  sin,  and  bit- 
terly repented  her  weakness.  Here  instead  was 
what  the  world  would  consider  a  fallen  woman, 
who  on  her  deathbed  regarded  her  weakness  as  her 
strength,  her  shame  as  her  glory,  and  who  seemed 
to  expect  him  to  take  the  same  view  of  the  matter. 
When  he  attempted  to  urge  her  to  repent,  the  words 
stuck  in  his  throat.  He  left  the  deathbed  of  the 
unfortunate  sinner  without  having  expressed  one 
of  the  conflicting  emotions  which  filled  his  heart. 
But  he  left  it  with  such  a  weight  on  his  soul,  such 
distress  in  his  mind  that  death  seemed  to  him  the 
only  way  of  escape  from  a  life  of  torment. 

His  love  for  Joy  Irving  was  not  killed  by  the 
story  he  had  heard.  But  it  had  received  a  terrible 
shock,  and  the  thought  of  making  her  his  wife 
with  the  probability  that  the  Baroness  would 
spread  the  scandal  broadcast,  and  that  his  mar- 
riage would  break  his  mother's  heart,  tortured 
him.  Added  to  this  were  his  theories  on  heredity, 


AN  AMBITIOUS  MAN  145 

and  the  fear  that  there  might,  nay,  must  be, 
some  dangerous  tendency  hidden  in  the  daughter 
of  a  mother  who  had  so  erred,  and  who  in  dying 
showed  no  comprehension  of  the  enormity  of  her 
sin.  Had  Mrs.  Irving  bewailed  her  fall,  and  rep- 
resented herself  as  the  victim  of  a  wily  villain, 
the  rector  would  not  have  felt  so  great  a  fear  of  the 
daughter's  inheritance.  A  frail,  repentant  woman 
he  could  pity  and  forgive,  but  it  seemed  to  him 
that  Mrs.  Irving  was  utterly  lacking  in  moral  na- 
ture. She  was  spiritually  blind.  The  thought 
tortured  him.  To  leave  Joy  at  this  time  without 
calling  to  see  her  seemed  base  and  cowardly;  yet 
he  dared  not  trust  himself  in  her  presence.  So 
he  sent  her  the  strangely  worded  letter,  and  went 
away  hoping  to  be  shown  the  path  of  duty  before 
he  returned. 

At  the  end  of  three  mouths  he  came  home 
stronger  in  body  and  mind.  He  had  resolved  to 
compromise  with  fate;  to  continue  his  calls  upon 
Joy  Irving;  to  be  her  friend  and  rector  only,  un- 
til by  the  passage  of  time,  and  the  changes  which 
occur  so  rapidly  in  every  society,  the  scandal  in 
regard  to  her  birth  had  been  forgotten.  And  until 
by  patience  and  tenderness,  he  won  his  mother's 
consent  to  the  union.  He  felt  that  all  this  must 
come  about  as  he  desired,  if  he  did  not  aggravate 
his  mother's  feeling  or  defy  public  opinion  by  too 
precipitate  methods. 


146  AN  AMBITIOUS   MAN 

He  could  not  wholly  give  up  all  thoughts  of  Joy 
Irving.  She  had  grown  to  be  a  part  of  his  hopes 
and  dreams  of  the  future,  as  she  was  a  part  of  the 
reality  of  his  present.  But  she  was  very  young; 
he  could  afford  to  wait,  and  while  he  waited  to 
study  the  girl's  character,  and  if  he  saw  any  bud- 
ding shoot  which  bespoke  the  maternal  tree,  to 
prune  and  train  it  to  his  own  liking.  For  the  sake 
of  his  unborn  children  he  felt  it  his  duty  to  care- 
fully study  any  woman  he  thought  to  make  his 
wife. 

But  when  he  reached  home,  the  surprising  intel- 
ligence awaited  him  that  Miss  Irving  had  left  the 
metropolis.  A  brief  note  to  the  church  authori- 
ties, resigning  her  position,  and  saying  that  she 
was  about  to  leave  the  city,  was  all  that  any  one 
knew  of  her. 

The  rector  instituted  a  quiet  search,  but  only 
succeeded  in  learning  that  she  had  conducted  her 
preparations  for  departure  with  the  greatest  se- 
crecy, and  that  to  no  one  had  she  imparted  her 
plans. 

Whenever  a  young  woman  shrouds  her  actions 
in  the  garments  of  secrecy,  she  invites  suspicion. 
The  people  who  love  to  suspect  their  fellow-beings 
of  wrong-doing  were  not  absent  on  this  occasion. 

The  rector  was  hurt  and  wounded  by  all  this, 
and  while  he  resented  the  intimation  from  another 


AN  AMBITIOUS  MAN  147 

that  Miss  living's  conduct  had  been  peculiar  and 
mysterious,  he  felt  it  to  be  so  in  his  own  heart. 

"Is  it  her  mother's  tendency  to  adventure  devel- 
oping in  her?"  he  asked  himself. 

Yet  he  wrote  her  a  letter,  directing  it  to  her  at 
the  old  number,  thinking  she  would  at  least  leave 
her  address  with  the  postoffice  for  the  forwarding 
of  mail.  The  letter  was  returned  to  him  from  that 
cemetery  of  many  a  dear  hope,  the  dead-letter 
office  A  personal  in  a  leading  paper  failed  to 
elicit  a  reply.  And  then  one  day  six  months  after 
the  disappearance  of  Joy  Irving,  the  young  rector 
was  called  to  the  Cheney  household  to  offer  spir- 
itual consolation  to  Miss  Alice,  who  believed  her- 
self to  be  dying.  She  had  been  in  a  decline  ever 
since  the  rector  went  away  for  his  health.  Since 
his  return  she  had  seen  him  but  seldom,  rarely 
save  in  the  pulpit,  and  for  the  last  six  weeks  she 
had  been  too  ill  to  attend  divine  service. 

It  was  Preston  Cheney  himself,  at  home  upon 
one  of  his  periodical  visits,  who  sent  for  the  rector, 
and  gravely  met  him  at  the  door  when  he  arrived, 
and  escorted  him  into  his  study. 

"I  am  very  anxious  about  my  daughter,"  he 
said.  "She  has  been  a  nervous  child  always,  and 
over-sensitive.  I  returned  yesterday  after  an  ab- 
sence of  some  three  months  in  California,  to  find 
Alice  in  bed,  wasted  to  a  shadow,  and  constantly 


148  AN   AMBITIOUS  MAN 

weeping.  I  cannot  win  her  confidence— she  has 
never  confided  to  me.  Perhaps  it  is  my  fault;  per- 
haps I  have  not  been  at  home  enough  to  make  her 
realize  that  the  relationship  of  father  and  daughter 
is  a  sacred  one.  This  morning  when  I  was  urging 
her  to  tell  me  what  grieved  her,  she  remarked  that 
there  was  but  one  person  to  whom  she  could  com- 
municate this  sorrow — her  rector.  So,  my  dear 
Dr.  Stuart,  I  have  sent  for  you.  I  will  conduct 
you  to  my  child,  and  I  leave  her  in  your  hands. 
Whatever  comfort  and  consolation  you  can  offer, 
I  know  will  be  given.  I  hope  she  will  not  bind 
you  to  secrecy;  I  hope  you  may  be  able  to  tell  me 
what  troubles  her,  and  advise  me  how  to  help 
her." 

It  was  more  than  an  hour  before  the  rector  re- 
turned to  the  library  where  Preston  Cheney 
awaited  him.  When  the  senator  heard  his  approach- 
ing step,  he  looked  up,  and  was  startled  to  see  the 
pallor  on  the  young  man's  face.  "You  have  some- 
thing sad,  something  terrible  to  tellmeP'he  cried. 
"What  is  it?" 

The  rector  walked  across  the  room  several  times, 
breathing  deeply,  and  with  anguish  written  on 
his  countenance.  Then  he  took  Senator  Cheney's 
hand  and  wrung  it.  UI  have  an  embarrassing  an- 
nouncement to  make  to  you,"  he  said.  "It  is 
something  so  surprising,  so  unexpected,  that  I  am 
completely  unnerved." 


AN  AMBITIOUS  MAN  149 

"You  alarm  me  more  and  more,"  the  senator 
answered.  "What  can  be  the  secret  which  my 
frail  child  has  imparted  to  you  that  should  so 
distress  you?  Speak;  it  is  my  right  to  know." 

The  rector  took  another  turn  about  the  room, 
and  then  came  and  stood  facing  Senator  Cheney. 

"Your  daughter  has  conceived  a  strange  passion 
for  me,"  he  said  in  a  low  voice.  "It  is  this  which 
has  caused  her  illness,  and  which  she  says  will 
cause  her  death,  if  I  cannot  return  it." 

"And  you?"  asked  his  listener  after  a  moment's 
silence. 

"I?  Why,  I  have  never  thought  of  your  daugh- 
ter in  any  such  manner,"  the  young  man  replied. 
"I  have  never  dreamed  of  loving  her,  or  winning 
her  love." 

"Then  do  not  marry  her,"  Preston  Cheney  said 
quietly.  "Marriage  without  love  is  unholy.  Even 
to  save  life  it  is  unpardonable." 

The  rector  was  silent,  and  walked  the  room 
with  nervous  steps.  "I  must  go  home  and  think 
it  all  out,"  he  said  after  a  time.  "Perhaps  Miss 
Cheney  will  find  her  grief  less,  now  that  she  has 
imparted  it  to  me.  I  am  alarmed  at  her  condi- 
tion, and  I  shall  hope  for  an  early  report  from  you 
regarding  her." 

The  report  was  made  twelve  hours  later.  Miss 
Cheney  was  delirious,  and  calling  constantly  for 
the  rector.  Her  physician  feared  the  worst. 


150  AN  AMBITIOUS  MAN 

The  rector  came,  and  his  presence  at  once 
soothed  the  girl's  delirium. 

"History  repeats  itself,"  said  Preston  Cheney 
meditatively  to  himself.  "Alice  is  drawing  this 
man  into  the  net  by  her  alarming  physical  condi- 
tion, as  Mabel  riveted  the  chains  about  me  when 
her  mother  died. 

"But  Alice  really  loves  the  rector,  I  think,  and 
she  is  capable  of  a  much  stronger  passion  than 
her  mother  ever  felt;  and  the  rector  loves  no  other 
woman  at  least,  and  so  this  marriage,  if  it  takes 
place,  will  not  be  so  wholly  wicked  and  unholy 
as  mine  was." 

The  marriage  did  take  place  three  months  later. 

Alice  Cheney  was  not  the  wife  whom  Mrs.  Stu- 
art would  have  chosen  for  her  son,  yet  she  urged 
him  to  this  step,  glad  to  place  a  barrier  for  all 
time  between  him  and  Joy  Irving,  whose  possible 
return  at  any  day  she  constantly  feared,  and 
whose  power  over  her  son's  heart  she  knew  was 
undiminished. 

Alice  Cheney's  family  was  of  the  best  on  both 
sides;  there  was  wealth,  station,  and  honor;  and 
a  step-grandmamma  who  could  be  referred  to  on 
occasions  as  "The  Baroness."  And  there  was  no 
skeleton  to  be  hidden  or  excused. 

And  Arthur  Stuart,  believing  that  Alice  Che- 
ney's life  and  reason  depended  upon  his  making 


AN  AMBITIOUS  MAN  151 

her  his  wife,  resolved  to  end  the  bitter  struggle 
with  his  own  heart  and  with  fate,  and  do  what 
seemed  to  be  his  duty,  toward  the  girl  and  toward 
his  mother.  When  the  wedding  took  place,  the 
saddest  face  at  the  ceremony,  save  that  of  the 
groom,  was  the  face  of  the  bride's  father.  But 
the  bride  was  radiant,  and  Mabel  and  the  Baroness 
walked  in  clouds. 


CHAPTER  XVII. 

ALICE  did  not  rally  in  health  or  spirits  after  her 
marriage,  as  her  family,  friends  and  physician 
had  anticipated.  She  remained  nervous,  ailing 
and  despondent. 

"Should  maternity  come  to  her,  she  would 
doubtless  be  very  much  improved  in  health  after- 
ward," the  doctor  said,  and  Mabel,  remembering 
how  true  a  similar  prediction  proved  in  her  case, 
despite  her  rebellion  against  it,  was  not  sorry 
when  she  knew  that  Alice  was  to  become  a  mother, 
scarcely  a  year  after  her  marriage. 

But  Alice  grew  more  and  more  despondent  as 
the  months  passed  by;  and  after  the  birth  of  her 
eon,  the  young  mother  developed  dementia  of  the 
most  hopeless  kind.  The  best  specialists  in  two 
worlds  were  employed  to  bring  her  out  of  the  state 
of  settled  melancholy  into  which  she  had  fallen, 
but  all  to  no  avail.  At  the  end  of  two  years,  her 
case  was  pronounced  hopeless.  Fortunately  the 
child  died  at  the  age  of  six  weeks,  so  the  seed  of 
insanity  which  in  the  first  Mrs.  Lawrence  was 
simply  a  case  of  "nerves, "growing  into  the  plant 


AN  AMBITIOUS  MAN  153 

hysteria  in  Mabel,  and  yielding  the  deadly  fruit 
of  insanity  in  Alice,  was  allowed  by  a  kind  provi- 
dence to  become  extinct  in  the  fourth  generation. 

This  disaster  to  his  only  child  caused  a  com- 
plete breaking  down  of  spirit  and  health  in  Pres- 
ton Cheney. 

Like  some  great,  strongly  coupled  car,  which 
loses  its  grip  and  goes  plunging  down  an  incline 
to  destruction,  Preston  Cheney's  will-power  lost 
it  hold  on  life,  and  he  went  down  to  the  valley  of 
death  with  frightful  speed. 

During  the  months  which  preceded  his  death, 
Senator  Cheney's  only  pleasure  seemed  to  be  in 
the  companionship  of  his  son-in-law.  The  strong 
attachment  between  the  two  men  ripened  with 
every  day's  association.  One  day  the  rector  was 
sitting  by  the  invalid's  couch,  reading  aloud, 
when  Preston  Cheney  laid  his  hand  on  the  young 
man's  arm  and  said:  "Close  your  book  and  let 
me  tell  you  a  true  story  which  is  stranger  than 
fiction.  It  is  the  story  of  an  ambitious  man  and 
all  the  disasters  which  his  realized  ambition 
brought  into  the  lives  of  others.  It  is  a  story 
whose  details  are  known  to  but  two  beings  on 
earth,  if  indeed  the  other  being  still  exists  on 
earth.  I  have  long  wanted  to  tell  you  this  story 
— indeed,  I  wanted  to  tell  it  to  you  before  you 
made  Alice  your  wife,  yet  the  fear  that  I  would  be 


154  AN   AMBITIOUS    MAN 

wrecking  the  life  and  reason  of  my  child  kept  me 
silent.  No  doubt  if  I  had  told  you,  and  you  had 
been  influenced  by  my  experience  against  a  love- 
less marriage,  I  should  to-day  be  blaming  myself 
for  her  condition,  which  I  see  plainly  now  is  but 
the  culmination  of  three  generations  of  hysterical 
women.  But  I  want  to  tell  you  the  story  and  urge 
you  to  use  it  as  a  warning  in  your  position  of 
counselor  and  friend  of  ambitious  young  men. 

"No  matter  what  else  a  man  may  do  for  posi- 
tion, don't  let  him  marry  a  woman  he  does  not 
love,  especially  if  he  crucifies  a  vital  passion  for 
another,  in  order  to  do  this."  Then  Preston  Che- 
ney told  the  story  of  his  life  to  his  son-in-law; 
and  as  the  tale  proceeded,  a  strange  interest  which 
increased  until  it  became  violent  excitement,  took 
possession  of  the  rector's  brain  and  heart.  The 
story  was  so  familiar — so  very  familiar;  and  at 
length  when  the  name  of  Berene  Dumont  escaped 
the  speaker's  lips,  Arthur  Stuart  clutched  his 
hands  and  clenched  his  teeth  to  keep  silent  until 
the  end  of  the  story  came. 

"From  the  hour  Berene  disappeared,  to  this 
very  day,  no  word  or  message  ever  came  from 
her,"  the  invalid  said.  "I  have  never  known 
whether  she  was  dead  or  alive,  married,  or,  terri- 
ble*thought,  perhaps  driven  into  a  reckless  life  by 
her  one  false  step  with  me.  This  last  fear  has  been 
a  constant  torture  to  me  all  these  years. 


AN  AMBITIOUS  MAN  155 

"The  world  is  cruel  in  its  judgment  of  woman. 
And  yet  I  know  that  it  is  woman  herself  who  has 
shaped  the  opinions  of  the  world  regarding  these 
matters.  If  men  had  had  their  way  since  the 
world  began,  there  would  be  no  virtuous  women. 
Woman  has  realized  this  fact,  and  she  has  in  con- 
sequence walled  herself  about  with  rules  and  con- 
ventions which  have  in  a  measure  protected  her 
from  man.  When  any  woman  breaks  through 
these  conventions  and  errs,  she  suffers  the  scorn 
of  others  who  have  kept  these  self-protecting  and 
society-protecting  laws;  and  conscious  of  their 
scorn,  she  believes  all  hope  is  lost  forever. 

"The  fear  that  Berene  took  this  view  of  her 
one  mistake,  and  plunged  into  a  desperate  life 
has  embittered  my  whole  existence.  Never 
before  did  a  man  suffer  such  a  mental  hell 
as  I  have  endured  for  this  one  act  of  sin  and 
weakness.  Yet  the  world,  looking  at  my  life  of 
success,  would  say  if  it  knew  this  story,  'Behold 
how  the  man  goes  free.'  Free!  Great  Godl  there 
is  no  bondage  so  terrible  as  that  of  the  mind.  I 
have  loved  Berene  Dumont  with  a  changeless  pas- 
sion for  twenty-three  years,  and  there  has  not 
been  a  day  in  all  that  time  that  I  have  not  during 
some  hours  endured  the  agonies  of  the  damned, 
thinking  of  all  the  disasters  and  misery  that  might 
have  come  into  her  life  through  me.  Heaven 
knows  I  would  have  married  her  if  she  had  re- 


156  AN  AMBITIOUS   MAN 

mainecl.  Strange  and  intricate  as  the  net  was 
which  the  devil  wove  about  me  when  I  had 
furnished  the  cords,  I  could  and  would  have 
broken  through  it  after  that  strange  night — at 
once  the  heaven  and  the  hell  of  my  memory — if 
Berene  had  remained.  As  it  was — I  married  Mabel, 
and  you  know  what  a  farce,  ending  in  a  tragedy, 
our  married  life  has  been.  God  grant  that  no 
worse  woes  befell  Berene;  God  grant  that  I  may 
meet  her  in  the  spirit  world  and  tell  her  how  I 
loved  her  and  longed  for  her  companionship." 

The  young  rector's  eyes  were  streaming  with 
tears,  as  he  reached  over  and  clasped  the  sick 
man's  hands  in  his.  "You  will  meet  her,"  he 
said  with  a  choked  voice.  "I  heard  this  same 
story,  but  without  names,  from  Berene  Dumont's 
dying  lips  more  than  two  years  ago.  And  just  as 
Berene  disappeared  from  you — so  her  daughter 
disappeared  from  me;  and  God  help  me,  dear 
father — doubly  now  my  father,  I  crushed  out  my 
great  passion  for  the  glorious  natural  child  of 
your  love,  to  marry  the  loveless,  wretched  and  un- 
natural child  of  your  marriage." 

The  sick  man  started  up  on  his  couch,  his  eyes 
flaming,  his  cheeks  glowing  with  sudden  luster. 

"My  child — the  natural  child  of  Berene's  love 
and  mine,  you  say;  oh,  my  God,  speak  and  tell  me 
what  you  mean;  speak  before  I  die  of  joy  so  ter- 
rible it  is  like  anguish." 


AN  AMBITIOUS   MAN  157 

So  then  it  became  the  rector's  turn  to  take  the 
part  of  narrator.  When  the  story  was  ended, 
Preston  Cheney  lay  weeping  like  a  woman  on  his 
couch ;  the  first  tears  he  had  shed  since  his  mother 
died  and  left  him  an  orphan  of  ten. 

"Berene  living  and  dying  almost  within  reach 
of  my  arms — almost  within  sound  of  my  voice  I" 
he  cried.  "Oh,  why  did  I  not  find  her  before  the 
grave  closed  between  us?  and  why  did  no  voice 
speak  from  that  grave  to  tell  me  when  I  held  my 
daughter's  hand  in  mine? — my  beautiful  child, 
no  wonder  my  heart  went  out  to  her  with  such  a 
gush  of  tenderness;  no  wonder  I  was  fired  with 
unaccountable  anger  and  indignation  when  Mabel 
and  Alice  spoke  unkindly  of  her.  Do  you  remem- 
ber how  her  music  stirred  me?  It  was  her  moth- 
er's heart  speaking  to  mine  through  the  genius  of 
our  child. 

"Arthur,  you  must  find  her — you  must  find  her 
for  me!  If  it  takes  my  whole  fortune  I  must  see 
my  daughter,  and  clasp  her  in  my  arms  before  I 
die." 

But  this  happiness  was  not  to  be  granted  to  the 
dying  man.  Overcome  by  the  excitement  of  this 
new  emotion,  he  grew  weaker  and  weaker  as  the 
next  few  days  passed,  and  at  the  end  of  the  fifth 
day  his  spirit  took  its  flight,  let  us  hope  to  join 
its  true  mate. 


158  AN  AMBITIOUS  MAN 

It  had  been  one  of  his  dying  requests  to  have 
his  body  taken  to  Beryngford  and  placed  beside 
that  of  Judge  Lawrence. 

The  funerel  services  took  place  in  the  new  and 
imposing  church  edifice  which  had  been  con- 
structed recently  in  Beryngford.  The  quiet  in- 
terior village  had  taken  a  leap  forward  during  the 
last  few  years,  and  was  now  a  thriving  city, owing 
to  the  discovery  of  valuable  stone  quarries  in 
its  borders. 

The  Baroness  and  Mabel  had  never  been  in 
Beryngford  since  the  death  of  Judge  Lawrence 
many  years  before;  and  it  was  with  sad  and  bit- 
ter hearts  that  both  women  recalled  the  past  and 
realized  anew  the  disasters  which  had  wrecked 
their  dearest  hopes  and  ambitions. 

The  Baroness,  broken  in  spirit  and  crushed  by 
the  insanity  of  her  beloved  Alice,  now  saw  the 
form  of  the  man  whom  she  had  hopelessly  loved 
for  so  many  years,  laid  away  to  crumble  back  to 
dust;  and  yet,  the  sorrows  which  should  have 
softened  her  soul,  and  made  her  heart  tender  to- 
ward all  suffering  humanity,  rendered  her  pitileps 
as  the  grave  toward  one  lonely  and  desolate  being 
before  the  shadows  of  night  had  fallen  upon  the 
grave  of  Preston  Cheney. 

When  the  funeral  march  pealed  out  from  the 
grand  new  organ  during  the  ceremonies  in  the 


AN  AMBITIOUS   MAN  159 

church,  both  the  Baroness  and  the  rector,  absorbed 
as  they  were  in  mournful  sorrow,  started  with 
surprise.  Both  gazed  at  the  organ  loft;  and  there, 
before  the  great  instrument,  sat  the  graceful  fig- 
ure of  Joy  Irving.  The  rector's  face  grew  pale  as 
the  corpse  in  the  casket;  the  withered  cheek  of 
the  Baroness  turned  a  sickly  yellow,  and  a  spark 
of  anger  dried  the  moisture  in  her  eyes. 

Before  the  night  had  settled  over  the  thriving 
city  of  Beryngford,  the  Baroness  dropped  a  point 
of  virus  from  the  lancet  o  f  her  tongue  to  poison 
the  social  atmosphere  where  Joy  Irving  had  by  the 
merest  accident  of  fate  made  her  new  home,  and 
where  in  the  office  of  organist  she  had,  without 
dreaming  of  her  dramatic  situation,  played  the 
requiem  at  the  funeral  of  her  own  father. 


CHAPTER  XVIII. 

JOY  IRVING  had  come  to  Beryngford  at  the  time 
when  the  discoveries  of  the  quarries  caused  that 
village  to  spring  into  sudden  prominence  as  a 
growing  city.  Newspaper  accounts  of  the  build- 
ing of  the  new  church,  and  the  purchase  of  a  large 
pipe  organ,  chanced  to  fall  under  her  eye  just  as 
she  was  planning  to  leave  the  scene  of  her  unhap- 
pinesa 

"I  can  at  least  only  fail  if  I  try  for  the  position 
of  organist  there,"  she  said,  "and  if  I  succeed  in 
this  interior  town,  I  can  hide  myself  from  all  the 
world  without  incurring  heavy  expense." 

So  all  unconsciously  Joy  fled  from  the  metrop- 
olis to  the  very  place  from  which  her  mother  had 
vanished  twenty-two  years  before. 

She  had  been  the  organist  in  the  grand  new 
Episcopalian  Church  now  for  three  years;  and  she 
had  made  many  cordial  acquaintances  who  would 
have  become  near  friends,  if  she  had  encouraged 
them.  But  Joy's  sweet  and  trustful  nature  had 
received  a  great  shock  in  the  knowledge  of  the 
shadow  which  hung  about  her  birth.  Where  for- 
160 


AN  AMBITIOUS  MAN  161 

merly  she  had  expected  love  and  appreciation  from 
every  one  she  met,  she  now  shrank  from  forming 
new  ties,  lest  new  hurts  should  await  her. 

She  was  like  a  flower  in  whose  perfect  heart  a 
worm  has  coiled.  Her  entire  feeling  about  life  had 
undergone  a  change.  For  many  weeks  after  her 
self-imposed  exile,  she  had  been  unable  to  think  of 
her  mother  without  a  mingled  sense  of  shame  and 
resentment;  the  adoring  love  she  had  borne  this 
being  seemed  to  die  with  her  respect.  After  a 
time  the  bitterness  of  this  sentiment  wore  away, 
and  a  pitying  tenderness  and  sorrow  took  its 
place;  but  from  her  heart  the  twin  angels,  Love 
and  Forgiveness,  were  absent.  She  read  her  moth- 
er's manuscript  over,  and  tried  to  argue  herself 
into  the  philosophy  which  had  sustained  the  author 
of  her  being  through  all  these  years. 

But  her  mind  was  shaped  far  more  after  the 
conventional  pattern  of  her  paternal  ancestors, 
who  had  been  New  England  Puritans,  and  she 
could  not  view  the  subject  as  Berene  had  viewed 
it. 

In  spite  of  the  ideality  which  her  mother  had 
woven  about  him,  Joy  entertained  the  most  bitter 
contempt  for  the  unknown  man  who  was  her 
father,  and  the  whole  tide  of  her  affections  turned 
lavishly  upon  the  memory  of  Mr.  Irving,  whom 
she  felt  now  more  than  ever  so  worthy  of  her  re- 
gard. 


162  AN   AMBITIOUS   MAN 

Reason  as  she  would  on  the  supremacy  of  love 
over  law,  yet  the  bold,  unpleasant  fact  remained 
that  she  was  the  child  of  an  unwedded  mother. 
She  shrank  in  sensitive  pain  from  having  this  story 
follow  her,  and  the  very  consciousness  that  her 
mother's  experience  had  been  an  exceptional  one, 
caused  her  the  greater  dread  of  having  it  known 
and  talked  of  as  a  common  vulgar  laison. 

There  are  two  things  regarding  which  the  world 
at  large  never  asks  any  questions,  namely:  How  a 
rich  man  made  his  money,  and  how  an  erring 
woman  came  to  fall.  It  is  enough  for  the  world  to 
know  that  he  is  rich — that  fact  alone  opens  all 
doors  to  him,  as  the  fact  that  the  woman  has 
erred,  closes  them  to  her. 

There  was  a  common  vulgar  creature  in  Beryng- 
ford,  whose  many  amours  and  bold  defiance  of  law 
and  order  rendered  her  name  a  synonym  for  in- 
decency. This  woman  had  begun  her  career  in 
early  girlhood  as  a  mercenary  intriguer;  and  yet 
Joy  Irving  knew  that  the  majority  of  people  would 
make  small  distinctions  between  the  conduct  of 
this  creature  and  that  of  her  mother,  were  the 
facts  of  Berene's  life  and  her  own  birth  to  be  made 
public. 

The  fear  that  the  story  would  follow  here 
wherever  she  went  became  an  absolute  dread  with 
her,  and  caused  her  to  live  alone  and  without 


AN  AMBITIOUS   MAN  168 

companions,  in  the  midst  of  people  who  would 
gladly  have  become  her  warm  friends,  had  she 
permitted. 

Her  book  of  "Impressions"  reflected  the  changes 
which  had  taken  place  in  the  complexion  of  her 
mind  during  these  years.  Among  its  entries 
were  the  following: 

People  talk  about  following  a  divine  law  of  love, 
when  they  wish  to  excuse  their  brute  impulses 
and  break  social  and  civil  codes. 

No  love  is  sanctioned  by  God,  which  shatters 
human  hearts. 

Fathers  are  only  distantly  related  to  their  chil- 
dren ;  love  for  the  male  parent  is  a  matter  of  edu- 
cation. 

The  devil  macadamizes  all  his  pavements. 

A  natural  child  has  no  place  in  an  unnatural 
world. 

When  we  cannot  respect  our  parents,  it  is  diffi- 
cult to  keep  our  ideal  of  God. 

Love  is  a  mushroom,  and  lust  is  its  poisonous 
counterpart. 

It  is  a  pity  that  people  who  despise  civilization 
should  be  so  uncivil  as  to  stay  in  it.  There  is 
always  darkest  Africa. 

The  extent  of  a  man's  gallantry  depends  on  the 
goal.  He  follows  the  good  woman  to  the  borders 
of  Paradise  and  leaves  her  with  a  polite  bow;  but 
he  follows  the  bad  woman  to  the  depths  of  hell. 


164  AN  AMBITIOUS  MAN 

It  is  easy  to  trust  in  God  until  he  permits  us  to 
suffer.  The  dentist  seems  a  skilled  benefactor  to 
mankind  when  we  look  at  his  sign  from  the  street. 
When  we  sit  in  his  chair  he  seems  a  brute,  armed 
with  devil's  implements. 

An  anonymous  letter  is  the  bastard  of  a  diseased 
mind. 

An  envious  woman  is  a  spark  from  Purgatory. 

The  consciousness  that  we  have  anything  to  hide 
from  the  world  stretches  a  veil  between  our  souls 
and  heaven.  We  can  not  reach  up  to  meet  the 
gaze  of  God,  when  we  are  afraid  to  meet  the  eyes 
of  men. 

It  may  be  all  very  well  for  two  people  to  make 
their  own  laws,  but  they  have  no  right  to  force  a 
third  to  live  by  them. 

Virtue  is  very  secretive  about  her  payments, 
but  the  whole  world  hears  of  it  when  vice  settles 
up. 

We  have  a  sublime  contempt  for  public  opinion 
theoretically  so  long  as  it  favors  us.  When  it 
turns  against  us  we  suffer  intensely  from  the  loss 
of  what  we  claimed  to  despise. 

When  the  fruit  must  apologize  for  the  tree,  we 
do  not  care  to  save  the  seed. 

It  is  only  when  God  and  man  have  formed  a 
syndicate  and  agreed  upon  their  laws,  that  mar- 
riage is  a  safe  investment. 

The  love  that  does  not  protect  its  object  would 
better  change  its  name. 

When  we  say  of  people  what  we  would  not  say 
to  them,  we  are  either  liars  or  oowards. 


AN  AMBITIOUS  MAN  166 

The  enmity  of  some  people  is  the  greatest  com- 
pliment they  can  pay  us. 

It  was  in  thoughts  like  these  that  Joy  relieved 
her  heart  of  some  of  the  bitterness  and  sorrow 
which  weighed  upon  it.  And  day  after  day  she  bore 
about  with  her  the  dread  of  having  the  story  of 
her  mother's  sin  known  in  her  new  home. 

As  our  fears,  like  our  wishes,  when  strong  and 
unremitting,  prove  to  be  magnets,  the  result  of 
Joy's  despondent  fears  came  in  the  scandal  which 
the  Baroness  had  planted  and  left  to  flourish  and 
grow  in  Beryngford  after  her  departure.  An  hour 
before  the  services  began,  on  the  day  of  Preston 
Cheney's  burial,  Joy  learned  at  whose  rites  she 
was  to  officiate  as  organist.  A  pang  of  mingled 
emotions  shot  through  her  heart  at  the  sound  of  his 
name.  She  had  seen  this  man  but  a  few  times,  and 
spoken  with  him  but  once;  yet  he  had  left  a  strong 
impression  upon  her  memory.  She  had  felt  drawn 
to  him  by  his  sympathetic  face  and  atmos- 
phere, the  sorrow  of  his  kind  eyes,  and  the  keen 
appreciation  he  had  shown  in  her  art;  and  just 
in  the  measure  that  she  had  been  attracted  by 
him,  she  had  been  repelled  by  the  three  women 
to  whom  she  was  presented  at  the  same  time. 
She  saw  them  all  again  mentally,  as  she  had  seen 
them  on  that  and  many  other  days.  Mrs.  Cheney 
and  Alice,  with  their  fretful,  plain,  dissatisfied 


166  AN  AMBITIOUS   MAN 

faces,  and  their  over-burdened  costumes,  and  the 
Baroness,  with  her  cruel  heart  gazing  through  her 
worn  mask  of  defaced  beauty. 

She  had  been  conscious  of  a  feeling  of  overwhelm- 
ing pity  for  the  kind,  attractive  man  who  made 
the  fourth,*x)f  that  quartette.  She  knew  that  he 
had  obtained  honors  and  riches  from  life,  but  she 
pitied  him  for  his  home  environment.  She  had 
felt  so  thankful  for  her  own  happy  home  life  at 
the  time ;  and  she  remembered,  to  o,  the  sweet 
hope  that  lay  like  a  closed-up  bud  in  the  bottom 
of  her  heart  that  day,  as  the  quartette  moved  away 
und  left  her  standing  alone  with  Arthur  Stuart. 
It  was  only  a  few  weeks  later  that  the  -end  came 
to  all  her  dreams,  through  that  terrible  aoony- 
mous  letter. 

It  was  the  Baroness  who  had  sent  it,  sh  knew 
— the  Baroness  whose  early  hatred  for  her  mother 
had  descended  to  the  child.  "And  now  I  must 
sit  in  the  same  house  with  her  again,"  she  said, 
"and  perhaps  meet  her  face  to  face;  and  she  may 
tell  the  story  here  of  my  mother's  shame, even  as 
I  have  felt  and  feared  it  must  yet  be  told.  How 
strange  that  a  'love  child'  should  inspire  so  much 
hatred  I" 

Joy  had  carefully  refrained  from  reading  New 
York  papers  ever  since  she  left  the  city;  and  she 
had  no  correspondents.  It  was  her  wish  and  de. 


AN  AMBITIOUS  MAN  167 

sire  to  utterly  sink  and  forget  the  past  life  there. 
Therefore  she  knew  nothing  of  Arthur  Stuart's 
marriage  to  the  daughter  of  Preston  Cheney.  She 
thought  of  the  rector  as  dead  to  her.  She  believed 
he  had  given  her  up  because  of  the  stain  upon  her 
birth,  and,  bitter  as  the  pain  had  been,  she  never 
blamed  him.  She  had  fought  with  her  love  for 
him  and  believed  that  it  was  buried  in  the  grave 
of  all  other  happy  memories. 

But  as  the  earth  is  wrenched  open  by  volcanic 
eruptions  and  Jong  buried  corpses  are  revealed 
again  to  the  light  of  day,  so  the  unexpected  sight 
of  Arthur  Stuart,  as  betook  his  place  beside  Mabel 
and  the  Baroness  during  the  funeral  services,  re- 
vealed all  the  pent  up  passion  of  her  heart  to  her 
own  frightened  soul. 

To  strong  natures,  the  greater  the  inward  ex- 
citement the  more  quiet  the  exterior;  and  Joy 
passed  through  the  services,  and  performed  her 
duties,  without  betraying  to  those  about  her  the 
violent  emotions  under  which  she  labored. 

The  rector  of  Beryngford  Church  requested  her 
to  remain  for  a  few  moments,  and  consult  with 
him  on  a  matter  concerning  the  next  week's 
musical  services.  It  was  from  him  Joy  learned  the 
relation  which  Arthur  Stuart  bore  to  the  dead 
man,  and  that  Beryngford  was  the  former  home 
of  the  Baroness. 


168  AN  AMBITIOUS  MAN 

Her  mother's  manuscript  had  carefully  avoided 
all  mention  of  names  of  people  or  places.  Yet 
Joy  realized  now  that  she  must  be  living  in  the 
very  scene  of  her  mother's  early  life;  she  longed  to 
make  inquiries,  but  was  prevented  by  the  fear  that 
she  might  hear  her  mother's  name  mentioned  dis- 
respectfully. 

The  days  that  followed  were  full  of  sharp  agony 
for  her.  It  was  not  until  long  afterward  that 
she  was  able  to  write  her  "impressions"  of  that 
experience.  In  the  extreme  hour  of  joy  or  agony 
we  formulate  no  impressions;  we  only  feel.  We 
neither  analyze  nor  describe  our  friends  or  enemies 
when  face  to  face  with  them,  but  after  we  leave 
their  presence.  When  the  day  came  that  she  could 
write,  some  of  her  reflections  were  thus  epito- 
mized: 

Love  which  rises  from  the  grave  to  comfort  us, 
possesses  more  of  the  demons'  than  the  angel's 
power.  It  terrifies  us  with  its  supernatural  qual- 
ities and  deprives  us  temporarily  of  our  reason. 

Suppressed  steam  and  suppressed  emotion  are 
dangerous  things  to  deal  with. 

The  infant  who  wants  its  mother's  breast,  and 
the  woman  who  wants  her  lover's  arms,  are  poor 
subjects  to  reason  with.  Though  you  tell  the 
former  that  fever  has  poisoned  the  mother's  milk, 
or  the  latter  that  destruction  lies  in  the  lover's 
embrace,  one  heeds  you  no  more  than  the  other. 


AN   AMBITIOUS   MAN  169 

The  accumulated  knowledge  of  ages  is  sometimes 
revealed  by  a  kiss.  Where  wisdom  is  bliss,  it  is 
folly  to  be  ignorant. 

Some  of  us  have  to  crucify  our  hearts  before  we 
find  our  souls. 

A  woman  can  not  fully  know  charity  until  she 
has  met  passion;  but  too  intimate  an  acquaintance 
with  the  latter  destroys  her  appreciation  of  all 
the  virtues. 

To  feel  temptation  and  resist  it,  renders  us  lib- 
eral in  our  judgment  of  all  our  kind.  To  yield  to 
it,  fills  us  with  suspicion  of  all. 

There  is  an  ecstatic  note  in  pain  which  is  never 
reached  in  happiness. 

The  death  of  a  great  passion  is  a  terrible  thing, 
unless  the  dawn  of  a  greater  truth  shines  on  the 
grave. 

Love  ought  to  have  no  past  tense. 

Love  partakes  of  the  feline  nature.  It  has  nine 
lives. 

It  seems  to  be  difficult  for  some  of  us  to  distin- 
guish between  looseness  of  views,  and  charitable 
judgments.  To  be  sorry  for  people's  sins  and  fol- 
lies and  to  refuse  harsh  criticism  is  right ;  to  ac- 
cept them  as  a  matter  of  course  is  wrong. 

Love  and  sorrow  are  twins,  and  knowledge  is 
their  nurse. 

The  pathway  of  the  soul  is  not  a  steady  ascent, 
but  hilly  and  broken.  We  must  sometimes  go 
lower,  in  order  to  get  higher. 

That  which  is  to-day,  and  will  be   to-morrow, 


170  AN   AMBITIOUS  MAN 

must  have  been  yesterday.  I  know  that  I  live,  I 
believe  that  I  shall  live  again,  and  have  lived  be- 
fore. 

Earth  life  is  the  middle  rung  of  a  long  ladder 
which  we  climb  in  the  dark.  Though  we  can  not 
see  the  steps  below  or  above,  they  exist  all  the 
same. 

The  materialist  denying  spirit  is  like  the  burr 
of  the  chestnut  denying  the  meat  within. 

The  inevitable  is  always  right. 

Prayer  is  a  skeleton  key  that  opens  unexpected 
doors.  We  may  not  find  the  things  we  came  to 
seek,  but  we  find  other  treasures. 

The  pessimist  belongs  to  God's  misfit  counter. 

Art,  when  divorced  from  Religion,  always  be- 
comes a  wanton. 

To  forget  benefits  we  have  received  is  a  crime. 
To  remember  benefits  we  have  bestowed  is  a  great- 
er one. 

To  some  men  a  woman  is  a  valuable  book,  care- 
fully studied  and  choicely  guarded  behind  glass 
doors.  To  others,  she  is  a  daily  paper,  idly  scanned 
and  tossed  aside. 


CHAPTER    XIX. 

WHILE  Joy  battled  with  her  sorrow  during  the 
days  following  Preston  Cheney's  burial,  she  woke 
to  the  consciousness  that  her  history  was  known 
in  Beryngford.  The  indescribable  change  in  the 
manner  of  her  acquaintances,  the  curiosity  in  the 
eyes  of  some, the  insolence  or  familiarity  of  others, 
all  told  her  that  her  fears  were  realized;  and  then 
there  came  a  letter  from  the  church  authorities 
requesting  her  to  resign  her  position  as  organist. 

This  letter  came  to  the  young  girl  on  one  of 
those  dreary  autumn  nights  when  all  the  desola- 
tion of  the  dying  summer,  and  none  of  the  ex- 
hilaration of  the  approaching  winter, is  in  the  air. 
She  had  been  laboring  all  day  under  a  cloud  of 
depression  which  hovered  over  her  heart  and  brain 
and  threatened  to  wholly  envelop  her;  and  the 
letter  from  the  church  committee  cut  her  heart 
like  a  poniard  stroke.  Sometimes  we  are  able  to 
bear  a  series  of  great  disasters  with  courage  and 
equanimity,  while  we  utterly  collapse  under  some 
slight  misfortune.  Joy  had  been  a  heroine  in  her 
great  sorrows,  but  now  in  the  undeserved  loss  of 

m 


172  AN  AMBITIOUS    MAN 

her  position  as  church  organist,  she  felt  herself 
unable  longer  to  cope  with  Fate. 

"There  is  no  place  for  me  anywhere,"  she  said 
to  herself.  Had  she  known  the  truth,  that  the 
Baroness  had  represented  her  to  the  committee  as 
a  fallen  woman  of  the  metropolis,  who  had  left 
the  city  for  the  city's  good,  the  letter  would  not 
have  seemed  to  her  so  cruelly  unjust  and  unjusti- 
fiable. 

Bitter  as  had  been  her  suffering  at  the  loss  of 
Arthur  Stuart  from  her  life,  she  had  found  it  pos- 
sible to  understand  his  nesitation  to  make  her  his 
wife.  With  his  fine  sense  of  family  pride,  and  his 
reverence  for  the  estate  of  matrimony,  his  belief  in 
heredity,  it  seemed  quite  natural  to  her  that  he 
should  be  shocked  at  the  knowledge  of  the  condi- 
tions under  which  she  was  born;  and  the  thought 
that  her  disappearance  from  his  life  was  helping 
him  to  solve  a  painful  problem, had  at  times,  before 
this  unexpected  sight  of  him,  rendered  her  almost 
happy  in  her  lonely  exile.  She  had  grown  strangely 
fond  of  Beryngford — of  the  old  streets  and  homes 
which  she  knew  must  have  been  familiar  to  her 
mother's  eyes,  of  the  new  church  whose  glorious 
voiced  organ  gave  her  so  many  hours  of  comfort 
and  relief  of  soul,  of  the  tiny  apartment  where 
she  and  her  heart  communed  together.  She  was 
cat-like  in  her  love  of  places,  and  now  she  must 


AN  AMBITIOUS   MAN  178 

tear  herself  away  from  all  these  surroundings  and 
seek  some  new  spot  wherein  to  hide  herself  and 
her  sorrows. 

It  was  like  tearing  up  a  half-rooted  flower,  al- 
ready drooping  from  one  transplanting.  She  said 
to  herself  that  she  could  never  survive  another 
change.  She  read  the  letter  over  which  lay  in  her 
hand,  and  tears  began  to  slowly  well  from  her  eyes. 
Joy  seldom  wept;  but  now  it  seemed  to  her  she 
was  some  other  person,  who  stood  apart  and  wept 
tears  of  sympathy  for  this  poor  girl,  Joy  Irving, 
whose  life  was  so  hemmed  about  with  troubles, 
none  of  which  were  of  her  own  making;  and  then, 
like  a  dam  which  suddenly  gives  way  and  allows 
a  river  to  overflow,  a  great  storm  of  sobs  shook 
her  frame,  and  she  wept  as  she  had  never  wept  be- 
fore; and  with  her  tears  there  came  rushing  back 
to  her  heart  all  the  old  love  and  sorrow  for  the 
dead  mother  which  had  so  long  been  hidden  un- 
der her  burden  of  shame;  and  all  the  old  passion 
and  longing  for  the  man  whose  insane  wife  she 
knew  to  be  a  more  hopeless  obstacle  between  them 
than  this  mother's  history  had  proven. 

"Mother,  Arthur,  pity  me,  pity  me!"  she  cried. 
"I  am  all  alone,  and  the  strife  is  so  terrible.  I 
have  never  meant  to  harm  any  living  thing! 
Mother,  Arthur,  God,  how  can  you  all  desert  me 
so?" 


174  AN  AMBITIOUS  MAN 

At  last,  exhausted,  she  fell  into  a  deep  and 
dreamless  sleep. 

She  awoke  the  following  morning  with  an  ach- 
ing head,  and  a  heart  wherein  all  emotions  seemed 
dead  save  a  dull  despair.  She  was  conscious  of 
only  one  wish,  one  desire — a  longing  to  sit  again 
in  the  organ  loft,  and  pour  forth  her  soul  in  one 
last  farewell  to  that  instrument  which  had  grown 
to  seem  her  friend,  confidant  and  lover. 

She  battled  with  her  impulse  as  unreasonable 
and  unwise,  till  the  day  was  well  advanced.  But 
it  grew  stronger  with  each  hour;  and  at  last  she 
set  forth  under  a  leaden  sky  and  through  a  dreary 
November  rain  to  the  church. 

Her  head  throbbed  with  pain,  and  her  hands 
were  hot  and  feverish,  as  she  seated  herself  before 
the  organ  and  began  to  play.  But  with  the  first 
sounds  responding  to  her  touch,  she  ceased  to 
think  of  bodily  discomfort. 

The  music  was  the  voice  of  her  own  soul,  utter- ' 
ing  to  God  all  its  desolation,  its  anguish  and  its 
despair.  Then  suddenly,  with  no  seeming  volition 
of  her  own,  it  changed  to  a  passion  of  human  love, 
human  desire;  the  sorrow  of  separation,  the  strife 
with  the  emotions,  the  agony  of  renunciation  were 
all  there;  and  the  November  rain, beating  in  wild 
gusts  against  the  window-panes  behind  the  musi- 
cian, lent  a  fitting  accompaniment  to  the  strains. 


AN  AMBITIOUS   MAN  175 

She  had  been  playing  for  perhaps  an  hour,  when 
a  sudden  exhaustion  seized  upon  her,  and  her 
hands  fell  nerveless  and  inert  upon  her  lap;  she 
dropped  her  chin  upon  her  breast  and  closed  her 
eyes.  She  was  drunken  with  her  own  music. 

When  she  opened  them  again  a  few  moments 
later,  they  fell  upon  the  face  of  Arthur  Stuart, 
who  stood  a  few  feet  distant  regarding  her  with 
haggard  eyes.  Unexpected  and  strange  as  his 
presence  was,  Joy  felt  neither  surprise  nor  wonder. 
She  had  been  thinking  of  him  so  intensely,  he  had 
been  so  interwoven  with  the  music  she  had  been 
playing,  that  his  bodily  presence  appeared  to  her 
as  a  natural  result.  He  was  the  first  to  speak;  and 
when  he  spoke  she  noticed  that  his  voice  sounded 
hoarse  and  broken,  and  that  his  face  was  drawn 
and  pale. 

"I  came  to  Beryngford  this  morning  expressly 
to  see  you,  Joy,"  he  said.  "I  have  many  things 
to  say  to  you.  I  went  to  your  residence  and  was 
told  by  the  maid  that  I  would  find  you  here.  I 
followed, as  you  see.  We  have  had  many  meetings 
in  church  edifices,  in  organ  lofts.  It  seems  nat- 
ural to  find  you  in  such  a  place,  but  I  fear  it  will 
be  unnatural  and  unfitting  to  say  to  you  here, 
what  I  came  to  say.  Shall  we  return  to  your  home?" 

His  eyes  shone  strangely  from  dusky  caverns, 
and  there  were  deep  lines  about  his  mouth. 


176  AN  AMBITIOUS   MAN 

uHe,too,has  suffered,"  thought  Joy;  "I  have  not 
borne  it  all  alone."  Then  she  said  aloud:  "We 
are  quite  undisturbed  here;  I  know  of  nothing  I 
could  listen  to  in  my  room  which  I  could  not  hear 
you  say  in  this  place.  Go  on." 

He  looked  at  her  silently  for  a  moment,  his 
cheek  pale,  his  breast  heaving.  Before  he  came 
to  Beryngford,  he  had  fought  his  battle  between 
religion  and  human  passion,  and  passion  had  won. 
He  had  cast  under  his  feet  every  principle  and 
tradition  in  which  he  had  been  reared,  and  re- 
solved to  live  alone  henceforth  for  the  love  and 
companionship  of  one  human  being,  could  he  ob- 
tain her  consent  to  go  with  him. 

Yet  for  the  moment,  he  hesitated  to  speak  the 
words  he  had  resolved  to  utter,  under  the  roof  of 
a  house  of  God,  so  strong  were  the  influences  of 
his  early  training  and  his  habits  of  thought.  But 
as  his  eyes  feasted  upon  the  face  before  him,  his 
hesitation  vanished,  and  he  leaned  toward  her  and 
spoke.  "Joy,"  he  said,  "three  years  ago  I  went 
away  and  left  you  in  sorrow,  alone,  because  I  was 
afraid  to  brave  public  opinion,  afraid  to  displease 
my  mother  and  ask  you  to  be  my  wife.  The  story 
your  mother  told  me  of  your  birth,  a  story  she 
left  in  manuscript  for  you  to  read,  made  a  social 
coward  of  me.  I  was  afraid  to  take  a  girl  born 
out  of  wedlock  to  be  my  life  companion, the  mother 


AN  AMBITIOUS  MAN  177 

of  my  children.  Well,  I  married  a  girl  born  in 
wedlock;  and  where  is  my  companion?"  He 
paused  and  laughed  recklessly.  Then  he  went  on 
hurriedly:  "She  is  in  an  insane  asylum.  I  am 
chained  to  a  corpse  for  life.  I  had  not  enough 
moral  courage  three  years  ago  to  make  you  my 
wife.  But  I  have  moral  courage  enough  now  to 
come  here  and  ask  you  to  go  with  me  to  Australia, 
and  begin  a  new  life  together.  My  mother  died 
a  year  ago.  I  donned  the  surplice  at  her  bidding. 
I  will  abandon  it  at  the  bidding  of  Love.  I  sinned 
against  heaven  in  marrying  a  woman  I  did  not 
love.  I  am  willing  to  sin  against  the  laws  of  man 
by  living  with  the  woman  I  do  love;  will  you  go 
with  me,  Joy?"  There  was  silence  save  for  the 
beating  of  the  rain  against  the  stained  window, 
and  tbd  wailing  of  the  wind. 

Joy  was  in  a  peculiarly  overwrought  condition 
of  mind  and  body.  Her  hours  of  extravagant 
weeping  the  previous  night,  followed  by  a  day  of 
fasting,  left  her  nervous  system  in  a  state  to  be 
easily  excited  by  the  music  she  had  been  playing. 
She  was  virtually  intoxicated  with  sorrow  and 
harmony.  She  was  incapable  of  reasoning,  and 
conscious  only  of  two  things — that  she  must  leave 
Beryngford,  and  that  the  man  whom  she  had 
loved  with  her  whole  heart  for  five  years,  was  ask- 
ing her  to  go  with  him;  to  be  no  more  homeless, 


178  AN   AMBITIOUS  MAN 

unloved,  and  alone,  but  his  companion  while  life 
should  last. 

"Answer  me,  Joy,"  he  was  pleading.  "Answer 
me." 

She  moved  toward  the  stairway  that  led  down 
to  the  street  door;  and  as  she  flitted  by  him,  she 
said,  looking  him  full  in  the  eyes  with  a  slow, 
grave  smile,  "Yes,  Arthur,  I  will  go  with  you." 
He  sprang  toward  her  with  a  wild  cry  of  joy,  but 
she  was  already  flying  down  the  stairs  and  out 
upon  the  street. 

When  he  joined  her,  they  walked  in  silence 
through  the  rain  to  her  door,  neither  speaking  a 
word,  until  he  would  have  followed  her  within. 
Then  she  laid  her  hand  upon  his  shoulder  and 
said  gently  but  firmly:  "Not  now, Arthur;  we  must 
not  see  each  other  again  until  we  go  away.  Write 
me  where  to  meet  you,  and  I  will  join  you  within 
twenty-four  hours.  Do  not  urge  me — you  must 
obey  me  this  once — afterward  I  will  obey  you. 
Good-night." 

As  she  closed  the  door  upon  him,  he  said,  "Oh, 
Joy,  I  have  so  much  to  tell  you.  I  promised  your 
father  when  he  was  dying  that  I  would  find  you; 
I  swore  to  myself  that  when  I  found  you  I  would 
never  leave  you,  save  at  your  own  command.  I 
go  now,  only  because  you  bid  me  go.  When  we 
meet  again,  there  must  be  no  more  parting;  and 


AN  AMBITIOUS  MAN  179 

you  shall  hear  a  story  stranger  than  the  wildest 
fiction — the  story  of  your  father's  life.  Despite 
your  mother's  secretiveuess  regarding  this  portion 
of  her  history,  the  knowledge  has  come  to  me  in 
the  most  unexpected  manner,  from  the  lips  of  the 
man  himself." 

Joy  listened  dreamily  to  the  words  he  was  say- 
ing. Her  father — she  was  to  know  who  her  father 
was?  Well,  it  did  not  matter  much  to  her  now 
— father,  mother,  what  were  they,  what  was  any- 
thing save  the  fact  that  he  had  come  back  to  her 
and  that  he  loved  her? 

She  smiled  silently  into  his  eyes.  Glance  be- 
came entangled  with  glance,  and  would  not  be 
separated. 

He  pushed  open  the  almost  closed  door  and  she 
felt  herself  enveloped  with  arms  and  lips. 

A  second  later  she  stood  alone,  leaning  dizzily 
against  the  door;  heart,  brain  and  blood  in  a  mad 
riot  of  emotion. 

Then  she  fell  into  a  chair  and  covered  her  burn- 
ing face  with  her  hands  as  she  whispered,  "Mother, 
mother,  forgive  me — I  understand — I  understand. " 


CHAPTER  XX. 

THE  first  shock  of  the  awakened  emotions  brings 
recklessness  to  some  women,  and  to  others  fear. 

The  more  frivolous  plunge  forward  like  the 
drunken  man  who  leaps  from  the  open  window 
believing  space  is  water. 

The  more  intense  draw  back, startled  at  the  un- 
known world  before  them. 

The  woman  who  thinks  love  is  all  ideality  is 
more  liable  to  follow  into  undreamed-of  chasms 
than  she  who,  through  the  complexity  of  her  own 
emotions,  realizes  its  grosser  elements. 

It  was  long  after  midnight  when  Joy  fell  into  a 
heavy  sleep,  the  night  of  Arthur  Stuart's  visit. 
She  heard  the  drip  of  the  dreary  November  rain 
upon  the  roof,  and  all  the  light  and  warmth 
seemed  stricken  from  the  universe  save  the  fierce 
fire  in  her  own  heart. 

When  she  woke  in  the  late  morning,  great 
splashes  of  sunlight  were  leaping  and  quivering 
like  living  things  across  the  foot  of  her  bed;  she 
sprang  up,  dazed  for  a  moment  by  the  flood  of 
light  in  the  room,  and  went  to  the  window  and 
180 


AN   AMBITIOUS  MAN  181 

looked  out  upon  a  sun-kissed  world  smiling  in  the 
arms  of  a  perfect  Indian  summer  day. 

A  happy  little  sparrow  chirped  upon  the  window 
sill,  and  some  children  ran  across  the  street  bare- 
headed, exulting  in  the  soft  air.  All  was  innocence 
and  sweetness.  Mind  and  morals  are  greatly  in- 
fluenced by  weather.  Many  things  seem  right  in 
the  fog  and  gloom,  which  we  know  to  be  wrong 
in  the  clear  light  of  a  sunny  morning.  The  events 
of  the  previous  day  came  back  to  Joy's  mind  as 
she  stood  by  the  window,  and  stirred  her  with  a 
sense  of  strangeness  and  terror.  The  thought  of 
the  step  she  had  resolved  to  take  brought  a  sudden 
trembling  to  her  limbs.  It  seemed  to  her  the  eyes 
of  God  were  piercing  into  her  heart,  and  she  was 
afraid. 

Joy  had  from  her  early  girlhood  been  an  earnest 
and  sincere  follower  of  the  Christian  religion. 
The  embodiment  of  love  and  sympathy  herself,  it 
was  natural  for  her  to  believe  in  the  God  of  Love 
and  to  worship  Him  in  outward  forms,  as  well  as 
in  her  secret  soul.  It  was  the  deep  and  earnest 
fervor  of  religion  in  her  heart,  which  rendered  her 
music  so  unusual  and  so  inspiring.  There  never 
was,  is  not,  and  never  can  be  greatness  in  any 
art  where  religious  feeling  is  lacking. 

There  must  be  the  consciousness  of  the  Infinite, 
in  the  mind  which  produces  infinite  results. 


182  AN  AMBITIOUS    MAN 

Though  the  artist  be  gifted  beyond  all  other  men, 
though  he  toil  unremittingly,  so  long  as  he  says, 
"Behold  what  I,  the  gifted  and  tireless  toiler,  can 
achieve,"  he  shall  produce  but  mediocre  and 
ephemeral  results.  It  is  when  he  says  reverently, 
"Behold  what  powers  greater  than  I,  shall  achieve 
through  me,  the  instrument,"  that  he  becomes 
great,  and  men  marvel  at  his  power. 

Joy's  religious  nature  found  expression  in  her 
music,  and  so  something  more  than  a  harmony  of 
beautiful  sounds  impressed  her  hearers. 

The  first  severe  blow  to  her  faith  in  the  church 
as  a  divine  institution,  was  when  her  rector  and 
her  lover  left  her  alone  in  the  hour  of  her  darkest 
trials,  because  he  knew  the  story  of  her  mother's 
life.  His  hesitancy  to  make  her  his  wife  she  un- 
derstood, but  his  absolute  desertion  of  her  at  such 
a  time,  seemed  inconsistent  with  his  calling  as  a 
disciple  of  the  Christ. 

The  second  blow  came  in  her  dismissal  from 
the  position  of  organist  attheBeryngford  Church, 
after  the  presence  of  the  Baroness  in  the  town. 

A  disgust  for  human  laws,  arid  a  bitter  resent- 
ment towards  society  took  possession  of  her. 
When  a  gentle  and  loving  nature  is  roused  to  an- 
ger and  indignation,  it  is  often  capable  of  extremes 
of  action;  and  Arthur  Stuart  had  made  his  propo- 
sition of  flight  to  Joy  Irving  in  an  hour  when  her 


AN  AMBITIOUS  MAN  183 

high-wrought  emotioDs  and  intensely  strung  nerves 
made  any  desperate  act  possible  to  her.  The  sight 
of  his  face,  with  its  evidences  of  severe  suffering, 
awoke  all  her  smoldering  passion  for  the  man; 
and  the  thought  that  he  was  ready  to  tread  his 
creed  under  his  feet  and  to  defy  society  for  her 
sake,  stirred  her  with  a  wild  joy.  God  had  seemed 
very  far  away,  and  human  love  was  very  precious; 
too  precious  to  be  thrown  away  in  obedience  to 
any  man-made  law. 

But  somehow  this  morning  God  seemed  nearer, 
and  the  consciousness  of  what  she  had  promised 
to  do  terrified  her.  Disturbed  by  her  thoughts,  she 
turned  towards  her  toilet-table  and  caught  sight 
of  the  letter  of  dismissal  from  the  church  commit- 
tee. It  acted  upon  her  like  an  electric  shock.  Re- 
sentment and  indignation  re-enthroned  themselves 
in  her  bosom. 

"Is  it  to  cater  to  the  opinions  and  prejudices  of 
people  like  these  that  I  hesitate  to  take  the  hap- 
piness offered  me?"  she  cried,  as  she  tore  the  let- 
ter in  bits  and  cast  it  beneath  her  feet.  Arthur 
Stuart  appeared  to  her  once  more,  in  the  light  of 
a  delivering  angel.  Yes,  she  would  go  with  him  to 
the  ends  of  the  earth.  It  was  her  inheritance  to 
lead  a  lawless  life.  Nothing  else  was  possible  for 
her.  God  must  see  how  she  had  been  hemmed  in 
by  circumstances,  how  she  had  been  goaded  and 


184  AN  AMBITIOUS  MAN 

driven  from  the  paths  of  peace  and  purity  where 
she  had  wished  to  dwell.  God  was  not  a  man,  and 
He  would  be  merciful  in  judging  her. 

She  sent  her  landlady  two  months'  rent  in  ad- 
vance, and  notice  of  her  departure,  and  set  hur- 
riedly about  her  preparations. 

Twenty-five  years  before,  when  Berene  Dumont 
disappeared  from  Beryngford,  she  had,  quite  un- 
known to  herself,  left  one  devoted  though  humble 
friend  behind,  who  sincerely  mourned  her  absence. 

Mrs. Connor  liked  to  be  spoken  of  as  "the  wash- 
lady  at  the  Palace."  Yet  proud  as  she  was  of  this 
appellation,  she  was  not  satisfied  with  being  an 
excellent  laundress.  She  was  a  person  of  ambi- 
tions. To  be  the  owner  of  a  lodging-house,  like 
the  Baroness,  was  her  leading  ambition,  and  to 
possess  a  "peany"  for  her  young  daughter  Kath- 
leen was  another. 

She  kept  her  mind  fixed  on  these  two  achieve- 
ments, and  she  worked  always  for  those  two  re- 
sults. And  as  mind  rules  matter,  so  the  laundress 
became  in  time  the  landlady  of  a  comfortable  and 
respectable  lodging-house,  and  in  its  parlor  a 
piano  was  the  chief  object  of  furniture. 

Kathleen  Connor  learned  to  play ;  and  at  last, to 
the  joy  of  the  lodgers,  she  married  and  bore  her 
"peany"  away  with  her.  Duing  the  time  when 


AN  AMBITIOUS  MAN  185 

Mrs.  Connor  was  the  ambitious  "wash-lady"  at 
the  Palace,  Berene  Dumont  came  to  live  there; 
and  every  morning  when  the  young  woman  car- 
ried the  tray  down  to  the  kitchen  after  having 
served  the  Baroness  with  her  breakfast,  she  offered 
Mrs.  Connor  a  cup  of  coffee  and  a  slice  of  toast. 

This  simple  act  of  thoughtfulness  from  the 
young  dependent  touched  the  Irish  woman's  ten- 
der heart,  and  awoke  her  lasting  gratitude.  She 
had  heard  Berene's  story,  and  she  had  been  pre- 
pared to  mete  out  to  her  that  disdainful  dislike 
which  Erin  almost  invariably  feels  towards  France. 
Realizing  that  the  young  widow  was  by  birth  and 
breeding  above  the  station  of  housemaid,  Mrs. 
Connor  and  the  servants  had  expected  her  to  treat 
them  with  the  same  lofty  airs  which  the  Baroness 
made  familiar  to  her  servants.  When,  instead, 
Berene  toasted  the  bread  for  Mrs.  Connor  and 
poured  the  coffee  and  placed  it  on  the  kitchen 
table  with  her  own  hands,  the  heart  of  the  wash- 
lady  melted  in  her  ample  breast.  When  the  heart 
of  the  daughter  of  Erin  melts,  it  permeates  her 
whole  being;  and  Mrs.  Connor  became  a  secret 
devotee  at  the  shrine  of  Miss  Dumont. 

She  had  never  entertained  cordial  feelings  to- 
ward the  Baroness.  When  a  society  lady — espe- 
cially a  titled  one — enters  into  competition  with 
working  people  and  yet  refuses  to  associate  with 


186  AN  AMBITIOUS    MAN 

them,  it  always  incites  their  enmity.  The  work- 
ing population  of  Beryngford,  from  the  highest  to 
the  lowest  grades,  felt  a  sense  of  resentment  to- 
ward the  Baroness,  who  in  her  capacity  of  land- 
lady still  maintained  the  airs  of  a  grand  dame, 
and  succeeded  in  keeping  her  footing  with  some 
of  the  most  fashionable  people  in  the  town. 

Added  to  these  causes  of  dislike,  the  Baroness 
was, like  many  wealthier  people,  excessively  close 
in  her  dealings  with  working  folk,  haggling  over  a 
few  cents  or  a  few  moments  of  wasted  time,  while 
she  was  generosity  itself  in  association  with  her 
equals. 

Mrs.  Connor,  therefore,  felt  both  pity  and  sym- 
pathy for  Miss  Dumont,  whose  position  in  the 
"Palace"  she  knew  to  be  a  difficult  one;  and  when 
Preston  Cheney  came  upon  the  scene  the  romantic 
mind  of  the  motherly  Irish  woman  fashioned  a 
future  for  the  young  couple  which  would  have  done 
credit  to  the  per  of  a  Mrs.  South  worth. 

Mr.  Cheney  always  had  a  kind  word  for  the 
laundress,  and  a  tip  as  well ;  and  when  Mrs.  Con- 
nor's dream  of  seeing  him  act  the  part  of  the 
Prince  and  Berene  the  Cinderella  of  a  modern 
fairy  story,  ended  in  the  disappearance  of  Miss 
Dumont  and  the  marriage  of  Mr.  Cheney  to  Mabel 
Lawrence,  the  unhappy  wash-lady  mourned  un- 
ceasingly. 


AN   AMBITIOUS   MAN  187 

Ten  years  of  hard,  UD remitting  toil  and  rigid 
economy  passed  away  before  Mrs.  Connor  could 
realize  her  ambition  of  becoming  a  landlady  in 
the  purchase  of  a  small  house  which  contained  but 
four  rooms,  three  of  which  were  rented  to  lodg- 
ers. The  increase  in  the  value  of  her  property 
during  the  next  five  years,  left  the  fortunate  specu- 
lator with  a  fine  profit  when  she  sold  her  house 
at  the  end  of  that  time,  and  rented  a  larger  one; 
and  as  she  was  an  excellent  financier,  it  was  not 
strange  that  at  the  time  Joy  Irving  appeared  on 
the  scene,  "Mrs.  Connor's  apartments"  were  as 
well  and  favorably  known  in  Beryngford,  if  not 
as  distinctly  fashionable,  as  the  "Palace"  had 
been  more  than  twenty  years  ago. 

So  it  was  under  the  roof  of  her  mother's  devoted 
and  faithful  mourner  that  the  unhappy  young  or- 
phan had  found  a  home  when  she  came  to  hide  her- 
self away  from  all  who  had  ever  known  her. 

The  landlady  experienced  the  same  haunting 
sensation  of  something  past  and  gone  when  she 
looked  on  the  girl's  beautiful  face,  which  had  so 
puzzled  the  Baroness;  a  something  which  drew 
and  attracted  the  warm  heart  of  the  Irish  woman, 
as  the  magnet  draws  the  steel.  Time  and  expe- 
rience had  taught  Mrs.  Connor  to  be  discreet  in 
her  treatment  of  her  tenants;  to  curb  her  curios- 
ity and  control  her  inclination  to  sociability.  But 


188  AN  AMBITIOUS  MAN 

in  the  case  of  Miss  Irving  she  had  found  it  impos- 
sible to  refrain  from  sundry  kindly  acts  which 
were  not  included  in  the  terms  of  the  contract. 
Certain  savory  dishes  found  their  way  mysteri- 
ously to  Miss  Irving's  menage,  and  flowers  ap- 
peared in  her  room  as  if  by  magic,  and  in  various 
other  ways  the  good  heart  and  intentions  of  Mrs. 
Connor  were  unobtrusively  expressed  toward  her 
favorite  tenant.  Joy  had  taken  a  suite  of  four 
rooms,  where,  with  her  maid,  she  lived  in  modest 
comfort,  and  complete  retirement  from  the  social 
world  of  Beryngford,  save  as  the  close  connection 
of  the  church  with  Beryngford  society  rendered 
her,  in  the  position  of  organist,  a  participant  in 
many  of  the  social  features  of  the  town. 

While  Joy  was  in  the  midst  of  her  preparations 
for  departure,  Mrs.  Connor  made  her  appearance 
with  swollen  eyes  and  red,  blistered  face. 

"And  it's  the  talk  of  that  ould  witch  of  a  Bar- 
oness, may  the  divil  run  away  with  her,  that  is 
drivin'  ye  away,  is  it?"  she  cried  excitedly;  "and 
it's  not  Mrs.  Connor  as  will  consint  to  the  daugh- 
ter of  your  mother,  God  rest  her  soul,  lavin'  my 
house  like  this.  To  think  that  I  should  have  had 
ye  here  all  these  years,  and  never  known  ye  to  be 
her  child  till  now,  and  now  to  see  ye  driven  away 
by  the  divil's  ownl  But  if  it's  the  fear  of  not 
being  able  to  pay  the  rint  because  ye've  lost  your 


AN  AMBITIOUS   MAN  189 

position,  ye  needn't  lave  for  many  a  long  day  to 
come.  It's  Mrs.  Connor  would  only  be  as  happy 
as  the  queen  herself  to  work  her  hands  to  the  bone 
for  ye,  remembering  your  darlint  of  a  mother, 
and  not  belavin'  one  word  against  her,  nor  ye." 

So  soon  as  Joy  could  gain  possession  of  her 
surprised  senses,  she  calmed  the  weeping  woman 
and  began  to  question  her. 

" My  good  woman,"  she  said,  "what  are  you 
talking  about?  Did  you  ever  know  my  mother, 
and  where  did  you  know  her?" 

"In  the  Palace,  to  be  sure,  as  they  called  the 
house  of  that  imp  of  Satan,  the  Baroness.  I  was 
the  wash-lady  there,  for  it's  not  Mrs.  Connor  the 
landlady  as  is  above  spakin'  of  the  days  when  she 
wasn't  as  high  in  the  world  as  she  is  now;  and 
many  is  the  cheerin'  cup  of  coffee  or  tay  from 
your  own  mother's  hand,  that  I've  had  in  the 
forenoon,  to  chirk  me  up  and  put  me  through  my 
washing,  bless  her  sweet  face;  and  niver  have  I 
forgotten  her;  and  niver  have  I  ceased  to  miss  her 
and  the  fine  young  man  that  took  such  an  interest 
in  her  and  that  I'm  as  sure  loved  her,  in  spite  of 
his  marrying  the  Judge's  spook  of  a  daughter,  as 
I  am  that  the  Holy  Virgin  loves  us  all;  and  it's 
a  foine  man  that  your  father  must  have  been,  but 
young  Mr.  Cheney  was  foiner. " 

So  little  by  little  Joy  drew  the  story  from  Mrs. 


190  AN  AMBITIOUS  MAN 

Connor  and  learned  the  name  of  the  mysterious 
father,  so  carefully  guarded  from  her  in  Mrs. 
Irving's  manuscript,  the  father  at  whose  funeral 
services  she  had  so  recently  officiated  as  organist. 

And  strangest  and  most  startling  of  all,  she 
learned  that  Arthur  Stuart's  insane  wife  was  her 
half-sister. 

Added  to  all  this,  Joy  was  made  aware  of  the 
nature  of  the  reports  which  the  Baroness  had  been 
circulating  about  her;  and  her  feeling  of  bitter 
resentment  and  anger  toward  the  church  commit- 
tee was  modified  by  the  knowledge  that  it  was  not 
owing  to  the  shadow  on  her  birth,  but  to  the  false 
report  of  her  own  evil  life, that  she  had  been  asked 
to  resign. 

After  Mrs.  Connor  had  gone,  Joy  was  for  a  long 
time  in  meditation,  and  then  turned  in  a  me- 
chanical manner  to  her  delayed  task.  Her  book 
of  "Impressions"  lay  on  a  table  close  at  hand, 
and  as  she  took  it  up  the  leaves  opened  to  the 
sentence  she  had  written  three  years  before,  after 
her  talk  with  the  rector  about  Marah  Adams. 

"It  seems  to  me  I  could  not,  love  a  man  who 
did  not  seek  to  lead  me  higher;  the  moment  he 
stood  below  me  and  asked  me  to  descend,  I  should 
realize  he  was  to  be  pitied,  not  adored. " 

She  shut  the  book  and  fell  on  her  knees  in 
prayer;  and  as  she  prayed  a  strange  thing  hap- 
pened. The  room  filled  with  a  peculiar  mist,like  the 


AN  AMBITIOUS   MAN  191 

smoke  which  is  illuminated  by  the  brilliant  rays 
of  the  morning  sun;  and  in  the  midst  of  it  a 
small  square  of  intense  rose-colored  light  was  vis- 
ible. This  square  grew  larger  and  larger,  until 
it  assumed  the  size  and  form  of  a  man,  whose 
face  shone  with  immortal  glory.  He  smiled  and 
laid  his  hand  on  Joy's  head.  "Child,  awake,"  he 
said,  and  with  these  words  vast  worlds  dawned 
upon  the  girl's  sight.  She  stood  above  and  apart 
from  her  grosser  body,  untrammeled  and  free; 
she  saw  long  vistas  of  lives  in  the  past  through 
which  she  had  come  to  the  present;  she  saw  long 
vistas  of  lives  in  the  future  through  which  she 
must  pass  to  gain  the  experience  which  would 
lead  her  back  to  God.  An  ineffable  peace  and 
serenity  enveloped  her.  The  divine  Presence 
seemed  to  irradiate  the  place  in  which  she  stood — 
she  felt  herself  illuminated,  transfigured,  sancti- 
fied by  the  holy  flame  within  her. 

When  she  came  back  to  the  kneeling  form  by 
the  couch,  and  rose  to  her  feet,  all  the  aspect  of 
life  had  changed  for  her. 


CHAPTER  XXI. 

JOY  IRVING  had  unpacked  her  trunks  and  set 
her  small  apartment  to  rights,  when  the  post- 
man's ring  sounded,  and  a  moment  later  a  letter 
was  slipped  under  her  door. 

She  picked  it  up,  and  recognized  Arthur  Stuart's 
penmanship.  She  sat  down,  holding  the  unopened 
letter  in  her  hands. 

"It  is  Arthur's  message,  appointing  a  time  and 
place  for  our  meeting,"  she  said  to  herself. 
"How  long  ago  that  strange  interview  with  him 
seems! — yet  it  was  only  yesterday.  How  utterly 
the  whole  of  life  has  changed  for  me  since  then  1 
The  universe  seems  larger,  God  nearer,  and  life 
grander.  I  am  as  one  who  slept  and  dreamed  of 
darkness  and  sorrow,  and  awakes  to  light  and 
joy." 

But  when  she  opened  the  envelope  and  read  the 
few  hastily  written  lines  within,  an  exclamation 
of  surprise  escaped  her  lips.  It  was  a  brief  note 
from  Arthur  Stuart  and  began  abruptly  without 
an  address  (a  manner  more  suggestive  of  strong 
passion  than  any  endearing  words). 
192 


AN  AMBITIOUS  MAN  198 

"The  first  item  which  my  eye  fell  upon  in  the 
telegraphic  column  of  the  morning  paper,  was  the 
death  of  my  wife  in  the  Insane  Retreat.  I  leave 
by  the  first  express  to  bring  her  body  here  for 
burial. 

"A  merciful  providence  has  saved  us  the  neces- 
sity of  defying  the  laws  of  God  or  man,  and 
opened  the  way  for  me  to  claim  you  before  all  the 
world  as  my  worshiped  wife  so  soon  as  propriety 
will  permit. 

"I  shall  see  you  at  any  hour  you  may  indicate 
after  to-morrow,  for  a  brief  interview. 

"ARTHUR  EMERSON  STUART." 

Joy  held  the  letter  in  her  hand  a  long  time,  lost 
in  profound  reflection.  Then  she  sat  down  to  her 
desk  and  wrote  three  letters;  one  was  to  Mrs. 
Lawrence;  one  to  the  chairman  of  the  church 
committee,  who  had  requested  her  resignation; 
the  third  was  to  Mr.  Stuart,  and  read  thus: 

"My  DEAR  MR.  STUART: — Many  strange  things 
have  occurred  to  me  since  I  saw  you.  I  have  learned 
the  name  of  my  father,  and  this  knowledge  reveals 
the  fact  to  me  that  your  unfortunate  wife  was  my 
half-sister.  I  have  learned,  too,  that  the  loss  of 
my  position  here  as  organist  is  not  due  to  the  nar- 
row prejudice  of  the  committee  regarding  the 
shadow  on  my  birth,  but  to  malicious  stories  put 
in  circulation  by  Mrs.  Lawrence,  relating  to  me. 

"Infamous  and  libelous  tales  regarding  my  life 
have  been  told,  and  must  be  refuted.  1  have  writ- 
ten to  Mrs.  Lawrence  demanding  a  letter  from 
her,  clearing  my  personal  character,  or  giving  her 
the  alternative  of  appearing  in  court  to  answer  the 
charge  of  defamation  of  character.  I  have  also 
written  to  the  church  committee  requesting  them 


194.  AN  AMBITIODB  MAM 

to  meet  me  here  in  my  apartments  to-morrow, 
and  explain  their  demand  for  my  resignation. 

"I  now  write  to  you  my  last  letter  and  my 
farewell. 

"In  the  overwrought  and  desperate  mood  in 
which  you  found  me,  it  did  not  seem  a  sin  for  me 
to  go  away  with  the  man  who  loved  me  and  whom 
I  loved,  before  false  ideas  of  life  and  false  ideas 
of  duty  made  him  the  husband  of  another.  Con- 
scious that  your  wife  was  a  hopeless  lunatic  whose 
present  or  future  could  in  no  way  be  influenced  by 
our  actions,  I  reasoned  that  we  wronged  no  one 
in  taking  the  happiness  so  long  denied  us. 

"The  last  three  years  of  my  life  have  been  full  of 
desolation  and  sorrow.  From  the  day  my  mother 
died,  the  stars  of  light  which  had  gemmed  the 
firmament  for  me,  seemed  one  by  one  to  be  obliter- 
ated, until  I  stood  in  utter  darkness.  You  found 
me  in  the  very  blackest  hour  of  all — and  you 
seemed  a  shining  sun  to  me. 

"Yet  soon  as  my  tired  brain  and  sorrow- worn 
heart  were  able  to  think  and  reason,  I  realized 
that  it  was  not  the  man  I  had  worshiped  as  an 
ideal,  who  had  come  to  me  and  asked  me  to  lower 
my  standard  of  womanhood.  It  was  another  and 
less  worthy  man — and  this  other  was  to  be  my 
companion  through  time,  and  perhaps  eternity. 
When  I  learned  that  your  insane  wife  was  my 
sister,  and  that  knowing  this  fact  you  yet  planned 
our  flight,  an  indescribable  feeling  of  repulsion 
awoke  in  my  heart. 

"I  confess  that  this  arose  more  from  a  sentiment 
than  a  principle.  The  relationship  of  your  wife  to 
me  made  the  contemplated  sin  no  greater,  but 
rendered  it  more  tasteless. 

"Had  I  gone  away  with  you  as  I  consented  to  do, 
the  world  would  have  said,  '  She  but  follows  her 


AM  AMBITIOUS  MAN  195 

fatal  inheritance — like  mother  like  daughter.' 
There  were  some  bitter  rebellious  hours,  when 
that  thought  came  to  me.  But  to-day  light  has 
shone  upon  me,  and  I  know  there  is  a  law  of  Di- 
vine Heredity  which  is  greater  and  more  powerful 
than  any  tendency  we  derive  from  parents  or 
grandparents.  I  have  believed  much  in  creeds  all 
my  life;  and  in  the  hour  of  great  trials  I  found  I 
was  leaning  on  broken  reeds.  I  have  now  ceased 
to  look  to  men  or  books  for  truth — I  have  found 
it  in  my  own  soul.  I  acknowledge  no  unfortunate 
tendencies  from  any  earthly  inheritance;  centu- 
ries of  sinful  or  weak  ancestors  are  as  nothing  be- 
side the  God  within.  The  divine  and  immortal 
me  is  older  than  my  ancestral  tree;  it  is  as  old  as 
the  universe.  It  is  as  old  as  the  first  great  Cause 
of  which  it  is  a  part.  Strong  with  this  conscious- 
ness, I  am  prepared  to  meet  the  world  alone,  and 
unafraid  from  this  day  onward.  When  I  think 
of  the  optimistic  temperament,  the  good  brain, 
and  the  vigorous  body  which  were  naturally  mine, 
and  then  of  the  wretched  being  who  was  my  legit- 
imate sister,  I  know  that  I  was  rightly  generated, 
however  unfortunately  born,  just  as  she  was 
wrongly  generated  though  legally  born. 

"My  father,  I  am  told,  married. into  a  family 
whose  crest  is  traced  back  to  the  tenth  century. 
I  carry  a  coat-of-arms  older  yet — the  Cross;  it 
dates  back  eighteen  hundred  years — yes,  many 
thousand  years,  and  so  I  feel  myself  the  nobler  of 
the  two.  Had  you  been  more  of  a  disciple  of 
Christ,  and  less  of  a  disciple  of  man,  you  would 
have  realized  this  truth  long  ago,  as  I  realize  it 
to-day.  No  man  should  dare  stand  before  his  fel- 
lows as  a  revealer  of  divine  knowledge  until  he 
has  penetrated  the  inmost  recesses  of  his  own 


196  AN   AMBITIOUS   MAN 

soul,  and  found  God's  holy  image  there;  and 
until  he  can  show  others  the  way  to  the  same  won- 
derful discovery.  The  God  you  worshiped  was  far 
away  in  the  heavens,  so  far  that  he  could  not 
come  to  you  and  save  you  from  your  baser  self  in 
the  hour  of  temptation.  But  the  true  God  has 
been  miraculously  revealed  to  me.  He  dwells 
within ;  one  who  has  found  Him,  will  never  debase 
His  temple. 

"Though  there  is  no  legal  obstacle  now  in  the 
path  to  our  union,  there  is  a  spiritual  one  which 
is  insurmountable.  /  no  longer  love  you.  I  am 
sorry  for  you,  but  that  is  all.  You  belonged  to 
my  yesterday — you  can  have  no  part  in  my  to-day. 
The  man  who  tempted  me  in  my  weak  hour  to 
go  lower,  could  not  help  me  to  go  higher.  And 
my  face  is  set  toward  the  heights. 

"I  must  prove  to  that  world  that  a  child  born 
under  the  shadow  of  shame,  and  of  two  weak,  un- 
controlled parents,  can  be  virtuous,  strong, 
brave  and  sensible.  That  she  can  conquer  pas- 
sion and  impulse,  by  the  use  of  her  divine  inher- 
itance of  will;  and  that  she  can  compel  the 
respect  of  the  public  by  her  discreet  life  and  lofty 
ideals. 

"I  shall  stay  in  this  place  until  I  have  vindi' 
cated  my  name  and  character  from  every  asper- 
sion cast  upon  them.  I  shall  regain  my  position 
of  organist,  and  retain  it  until  I  have  accumulated 
sufficient  means  to  go  abroad  and  prepare  myself 
for  the  musical  career  in  which  I  know  I  can  ex- 
cel. I  am  young,  strong  and  ambitious.  My  un- 
usual sorrows  will  give  me  greater  power  of 
character  if  I  accept  them  as  spiritual  tonics—' 
bitter  but  strengthening. 

"Farewell,  and  may  God  be  with  you. 

" JOY  IRVING." 


AN  AMBITIOUS   MAN  197 

When' the  rector  of  St.  Blank's  returned  from 
the  Beryngford  Cemetery,  where  he  had  placed 
the  body  of  his  wife  beside  her  father,  he  found 
this  letter  lying  on  his  table  in  the  hotel. 


THE  END. 


UNIVERSITY  OF  CALIFORNIA  LIBRARY 

Los  Angeles 

This  book  is  DUE  on  the  last  date  stamped  below 


JON    4198CF 

oni  919991 

UM   MAR    91987 

1 

'87 

JUN111987 

Ill/CUV 

OCT  0  8  1991 

NT 

DUE  3  WEEKS  FW 
DATE  RECEIVEC 

:  bCLA  URI 

SILL 

01171   1719 


